Panic Song
by Fuzzball457
Summary: A simple injury on a hunt turns in to way more than either brother bargained for. Angsty/Limp Sam. Warnings inside.
1. Prologue

**Hey guys! You have no idea, well some of you do, how long this bad boy's been in the making! The idea's been bouncing around since last summer and I started it in November! It's very nearly complete so I decided it's finally time to put it out there.**

**IMPORTANT NOTES:**

**#1: SUGGESTIONS: Like I said, this one is almost completely written, so as far as suggestions go, feel free to leave them, it's interesting to see what you think, but it's unlikely I'll go back and add them unless I think it will really benefit the story line. Not trying to be rude, but this caused problems on my last big story, so I want to clear that up now.**

**#2 FLAMES: They will be promplty used to fuel my fireplace so I can warm my toes up.**

**#3 DISCLAIMER: No. End of story. Also, each chapter title and the story title are Green Day songs. I love Green Day, but sadly don't own them either. **

**There are a few others, but I'll let them wait until the next chapter.**

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><p><strong>Length: 750, but most will be at least 2,000.<br>Chapter: 1/16  
>Next Post: Probably towards the end of next week<br>Beta: Little Miss Artist (Thanks!)  
>WARNINGS: Pretty much only drug abuse, not minor, but not major. (This will be further explained next chap)<strong>

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><p>PROLOGUE<p>

_"Does the pain weigh out the pride?  
>And you look for a place to hide?<br>Did someone break your heart inside?  
>You're in ruins"<br>__~21 Guns_

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><p>The blip of the heart monitor was the only sound to be heard in the small, white room. Dean, fast asleep in the uncomfortable chair, had faint stubble along his jaw which rested in his upturned palm, elbow on his thigh.<p>

In the bed was a taller, albeit younger man, known as Sam Winchester, Samuel to his father in a pissed-as-hell moment, and Sammy to his brother (and brother only.) His sleep, perhaps unconsciousness, was restless and he groaned every now and then, the pain reaching him even there.

Dean blinked a couple times as he came to. It was darker than when he'd fallen asleep, the blinds were drawn and the lights dimmed. Sam moaned and rolled his head.

"Shh, Sam," Dean soothed, gently rubbing the back of his brother's hand, the one without the IV line. Dark lashes fluttered for a moment, before his eyes flicked open and his green eyes became visible.

"Sammy?"

"Ugh, Dean, hurts," he moaned, scrunching up his nose.

"Yeah, buddy, that's what happens when you decided to play doggie chew toy."

"What?" Both men turned to see a young, female doctor standing in the doorway, her face the picture of confusion. "Doggie chew toy?"

"Just an old joke," Dean said quickly.

"But, Sam said this was a bear attack?" There wasn't really suspicion in her voice – in honesty, Dean thought she'd long ago figured out they had lied about their story – but light amusement, as if reminding them what their alibi was.

There was an awkward moment of silence, before she gave a small shake of her head and entered.

"So, Sam, how are you feeling?"

"He's in pain," Dean was quick to say.

"As much as I know you don't want to hear it, there's really not much I can do about that unless you've changed your mind…" she trailed off almost hopefully.

"No," Sam said, his voice gruff from lack of use, "no opiates, or other narcotics for that matter."

"But, Sam," Dean started, he hated seeing Sam in so much pain, it sounded too much like the moans and whimpers of pain from when Sam had first been ambushed by the black dog on the hunt only two days ago.

"No, Dean," Sam hissed back, "I'm 24, dude, I think I can make my own medical decisions."

"Yes, because you have such great history in that department, Mr. I'm-Fine."

"Um, excuse me?" the doctor said, clearing her throat. "So, that's a no, then? No narcotics? Because diclofenac is the strongest non-opiate, pain relieving drug we have and that's what you're getting now. We could give you a very mild narcotic…"

"No."

"But-" both the doctor and Dean started at the same time.

"No, and that's final. Doctor, when do you think I'll be released?"

The young woman looked a little flustered with the quick change in direction of the conversation and for a second she just stammered as she looked between the clipboard in her hand and the boys in front of her. "Oh, um…maybe, uh…the day after tomorrow, Friday at the latest."

"Thank you," Sam said, clearly dismissing her. She stammered for a minute or two before nodding and exiting, shooting looks over her shoulder.

"Dude, she was hot, you so could have had her. I mean, did you see the way she was looking at you?"

Sam just rolled his eyes and reached for the TV remote, wincing slightly at the tug on his stitches. Dean's hand stopped his before he could grab the device and Sam looked up to meet the worried eyes of his big brother.

"Sam…"

"Dean, you know I can't."

"It wouldn't be like last time, we'd be really careful and we could-"

"No, I'm not willing to risk it. I can't make you understand so please, just go with me on this, okay? This is what I want, this is what I need to do." Dean could see, by the strain on his face, that this was more than just a risk to Sam, this was about proving something to himself.

"Okay."

"Okay."

As Sam settled against the pillows and lost himself in the boring day-time television. He could feel Dean's gaze on him and knew what he was thinking about. What they were both thinking about…that day…so long ago…The day that had caused – and was still causing – both brothers so much misery.

**So? Good? Bad? Please, please review, it assures me there's interest in the story! Until next time...**


	2. Know Your Enemy

**AUTHOR NOTES:**

**#1 VERY IMPORTANT: This story focuses on drug abuse on Sam's behalf, however I tried very hard to show throughout the story that not only is it not really your typical drug abuse situation, but it's also not as extreme as some because I don't think Sam would go all out with this. It's hard to explain, so you'll just have to read and see  
>#2: As you all probably realized, I'm trying to do review replies through PM. I was short on time last time though so I tried to answer one's with questions and stuff like that first. If I didnt' get to yours, I'm sorry, I definitely will next time and thanks so much for the review! Also, review replies will be the day before I post the next chapter.<br>#3: I'm a bit of a Stephen King addict (those who know me will know what an understatement that is) so there are several refrences to SK in this chapter and others. Obviously I don't own those books, I just love 'em!**

**Disclaimer: No. *Sigh* **

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><p><strong>Length: 2,200<br>Chapter: 2/16  
>Next Post: Early next week<br>Beta: Little Miss Artist (Thanks!)  
>WARNINGS: Pretty much only drug abuse, not minor, but not major. (This will be further explained next chap)<strong>

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><p>CHAPTER 1<p>

Know your Enemy

"_When the blood's been sacrificed  
>Don't be blinded by the lies<br>In your eyes"_

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><p>"Yippie-ka-yay, motherfucker." The salt round exploded into the ghost girl with strange black hair that constant swirled around like it was in water.<p>

"Dude, really, _Die Hard_?" Dean just shot me one of the famous Dean-Winchester smiles (not the _what's-up-sweet-thing _one, but the _damn-right_ one) and continued his vigil.

It was getting dark quicker than I would have liked. I wasn't exactly _afraid_ of the dark per say (suffice to say a nyctophobic hunter wouldn't last long) but standing in the middle of the woods in the dark with only minimal light wasn't exactly high on my list of enjoyable things. Not only would it be hard to spot any semi-transparent ghosties, but there was also who knows what in the dark woods. I knew, that was who, I knew what was in those woods, or at the very least what could be in the woods. As much as precaution and all that was great, I sometimes wondered if it wouldn't just be easier to live on in the bliss of ignorance of all the horrors of the world. It was really the age old question of was it better to not know for sure and forever live in doubt or to know for sure that the answer was bad?

As it was, I fully felt the grass was greener over in the Normal Life of Bliss pasture. In fact the hunter pasture grass was looking pretty brown and dead.

"What's taking Dad so long?"

"He's got to dig up two whole graves, Sam, that takes time."

I lapsed into to silence and looked over the fountain. I could imagine the scene well. It seemed so normal…normal gone bad that resulted in a supernatural problem.

The Grady sisters, twins, were normal in all aspects. And their walk home from school had started out normal as well. Two teenage boys had ruined their normal plans with a less than normal, utterly horrifying, attack. After raping the older girl and beating them both, the two girls were drowned in the large stone fountain which sat near the back of the park, next to the large forest through which the twins had taken a short cut home from school. A tragedy if there ever was one. And it was really no wonder that the twins had become restless spirits.

We'd decided that, even with three people, it'd be hard to dig two graves while two spirits went on a rampage. Besides, cemeteries had tons of things to get injured on, headstones, statues, big trees, muddy ground, the list went on and on. So we'd decided Dean and I would go to the park, the ghost girls' main haunt, to keep them distracted while Dad dug up the graves.

So far, everything had gone as planned. Firing off a shot every couple of minutes, the night had been relatively uneventful. Also as planned, they only came to us at the fountain. Whether they couldn't leave or didn't understsand there was another person, we didn't know. We'd suffered no worse than Dean stubbing his toe when his flashlight died. So the one remaining flashlight had been stuck on the edge of the fountain between us. We had come at dusk, but I had really hoped to be gone before the sun fully retired for the night and you couldn't see a foot in front of your face.

A loud bang reached us and we both jerked around. There was a long, low creaking sound like something slowly bending to its breaking point. "What was that?" I asked, trying to hide the nervousness in my voice.

"I'll go find out," Dean said as he raised his weapon, grabbed the flashlight and headed for the darkness, leaving me in the dark except for the tiny glow of the two lights in the fountain.

"Wait…" and only once Dean was out of earshot did I quietly add, "don't leave me alone." The darkness seemed to press in from all sides, wrapping its icy tendrils around me. I started humming to myself as I stood there (_alone!)_ waiting for something to happen.

"Samuel Winchester." It was a good thing I hadn't drank anything recently or I probably would have pissed my pants.

Behind me was a tall, pearly white ghost of what was once an average tween. Her smoky black hair swirled through the air while her lips somehow still seemed puffed and translucently blue-ish. The red school girl jumper was a little frayed on part of the bottom but other than that it still looked relatively intact. It was probably new and she had worn it to school for the first time that day…For some reason that made the whole thing that much worse. Just a little girl eager to get home to tell her mom how much everyone liked her new dress…

"Hello." _(Wow, way to be, Sam.)_ I immediately clamped my mouth shut, determined not to say anything else stupid. A strange smile twisted itself onto her lips and she cocked her head to the side, only intensifying her childish look of innocence.

"Why are you desecrating the grave of me and my sister?" I almost corrected her grammar, but decided last minute correcting a pissed spirit's grammar wouldn't end well.

"Because you're killing people," I said trying hard to appeal to her sensitive side, which Dean insisted all females had.

"They deserve it," she said, a hint of an English accent showing through on the middle word.

"But-" My sentence was cut off by an impromptu flight through the air. I groaned as my head painfully smacked into a large birch, causing stars to dance in front of my eyes and my weapon to skitter away from me.

She appeared in front of me just as lightning flashed across the sky and for just a second I saw what she had looked like when she died. Blood dripped down her dress from the open wounds along her arms and legs. It poured from her smashed nose and her hair was so coated a stranger might have said she'd died it red. But the worst was the injury on the front of her head. Clearly her head had been smacked into the stone fountain because I could see skull fragments and grey matter along the gaping wound near her hair line.

Normally I wasn't squeamish but the sight of such a young girl so brutally murdered made my stomach take up gymnastics. Well that plus the fierce pain in my throbbing head. I rolled over just in time to lose the meager contents of my lunch onto the ground.

"Wow, how…pathetic." Her voice was absolute steel, not the tiniest drop of empathy. Suddenly I was air borne again, but this time the landing was even worse. I slammed, knee first, into the top of the fountain, sending both the decorative statue on top of the fountain and I tumbling to the ground. Landing painfully on the same knee, which popped and rolled in a way that couldn't be natural, I barely had time to cover my head with my hands before stone rained down around me. Small stones flew everywhere as the slabs shattered. I could feel several bank off my arms and legs and even a few which left specks of blood in their wake.

Coughing from all the smoke, I tried to pull myself to my feet but my knee buckled underneath me. It didn't really hurt all that much as long as I didn't put pressure on it. The question was: was that a good thing or a bad thing? Had I not really damaged it or damaged it so badly I couldn't even feel it? I collapsed back onto my side and instead rolled onto my back so I could see the ghostly girl.

"What? No last minute words? No bitchy comment or pleadings for your life?" My heart gave a fierce ache at the word bitchy, it was so Dean like. Where was Dean anyway? Probably dicking around with the other sister…

I simply remained silent, partly because I didn't have anything to say and partly because my throat was still tickling from the smoke of the falling rock. My silence only seemed to enrage her more because her face twisted into a horrific mask.

"I think I'm done with you." An internal shiver was added to my already freezing body. Instead of flying, this time I was dragged across the dirty ground, pieces of chipped stone embedding themselves into my jeans and under my fingernails which scrambled for purchase. I was jerked into the air and tossed into the fountain like a sack of potatoes. My shoulder slammed into the bottom and the icy water prickled my skin like sharp needles. I twisted about in the water like a fish in a net but I was stuck, seemingly glued to the bottom. Water invaded my nose which made me long to cough. The pain of my knuckles smacking into the rock walls as I flailed didn't even register, wouldn't for nearly half an hour.

My lungs started to burn as they pleaded for air and it felt as though they were literally shriveling up like in some cheesy cartoon. The throb in my head increased as I banged it up and down in my mad struggle for the surface. No wonder drowning was considered one of the top worst ways to die, that fiery burn…But more than any physical pain was the slow burning torture as hope died and wild fear replaced it. Knowing you were going to die was perhaps worse than dying itself, especially if you knew it'd been painful. Like laying down on the guillotine waiting for the sound of the rope being released and the swoosh as the blade sped towards your waiting neck.

I heard a strange sound from above the water and something flashed a bright color, but I couldn't tell what. I was too busy focusing on not drowning. But I didn't have to focus long because my body was suddenly released and I jerked up above the surface. Coughing like a 2-pack-a-day smoker, I managed to sit up and groggily look around. The one thing I'd been expecting wasn't there. Or should I say the one person.

Dean was nowhere to be seen and I was filled with a strange combination of worry and abandonment. As much as my stomach did back flips at the thought of Dean lost somewhere in the woods, hurt and alone, I couldn't bring myself to get up. Dean more than capable of holding his own against a spirit, especially since he wasn't dumb enough to drop his weapon just because he hit a tree. Besides, if something did happen, say Dean was knocked unconscious, Dad would be arriving on scene any minute now; the graves weren't that far away.

So I just relaxed against the cold stone and tilted my head back to rest on the edge of the lower basin.

Someone stumbled through the brush only moments after I had lain down to relax. Lifting my head (_weighs a fucking ton!)_ I wasn't surprised to see the beam of Dean's flashlight as he staggered from the bushes. I couldn't see if he was injured or not – the fountain glow only made a faint glow in a 2 foot radius – but as long as he was standing and managed to find his way back, it couldn't be too bad, right?

"Sam? Oh Jesus!" Dean cried when the beam fell across me. I must have looked worse than I felt because besides my knee and head, I couldn't recall any injuries besides some small pebble-induced scratches.

Dean came over and dropped to his knees. I refrained from saying '_couldn't have come to my rescue _before_ I got tossed around could you, o' faithful knight?_' Instead I stayed silent as Dean brushed my hair aside, assumedly to inspect the bruise that was surely already forming there. When Dean pulled a dark blue bandana – a perfect makeshift bandage during a hunt - and pressed it against my head, my eyes widened in surprise. Bleeding…huh, didn't even realize. I was even more shocked when Dean lifted up my hands, which looked like something had attempted to eat them then stopped half way. Blood leaked from all over and what little flesh could be seen was red and raw.

"Holy shit, what happened to your knee?" Dean leaned over and pulled the jeans further apart from the long tear already along the side of my right leg. My knee was purplish and swollen and the skin seemed to stretch under the swelling of the muscle beneath.

Dean ran a hand through his hair and I noticed for the first time how very pale Dean had gone in the last few seconds.

"Odd," was all I had to offer. If I hadn't known better, I would have said it wasn't my knee. After all how could something that looks so bad, hurt so little?

"Odd? What the hell does that mean?"

"I mean it doesn't really hurt, you know, like a very faint, niggling pain – like I _know_ it should hurt, but it doesn't."

Dean looked, if anything, worse.

**Thanks so much for reading! Pleas REVIEW! They make me soo happy!**


	3. Welcome to Paradise

**Thanks so much for all the reviews, favorites, and alerts! They mean so much! Please keep reviewing, they keep me writing! Hope you guys enjoy this chapter just as much :)**

**Disclaimer: No. *Sigh* **

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><p><strong>Length: 1,900<br>Chapter: 3/16  
>Next Post: Early next week<br>Beta: Little Miss Artist (Thanks!)  
>WARNINGS: Pretty much only drug abuse, not minor, but not major<strong>

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><p>CHAPTER 2<p>

Welcome to Paradise

_"This sudden fear has left me trembling  
>Cause now it seems that I am out here on my own<br>And I'm feeling so alone"_

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><p>"Sam, is it?" the doctor asked. I nodded and Dean placed a protective hand on my shoulder. <em>I'm here, little bro. <em>

"So I'm assuming that based on your very swollen looking knee and the ice pack you're pressing on it, that you've injured your knee." Another nod. Much more of this and he'd think I was mute. "Alright, then, can you tell me how you injured it?" I felt Dean's hand tighten ever slightly on my shoulder. Knee injury…what commonly caused knee injuries?

"Sports."

"Oh, do you play on any school teams?"

"Not right now, but we're moving soon," at least that much was true, "and I want to try out for that team. I figured I should still practice so I'm not totally out of the flow when I try out."

"What sport?"

"Track." Not entirely untrue. I did like track. A lot. But I wouldn't be playing in the near future. In fact, unless Dad caught Mr. Yellow Eyes tomorrow and suddenly decided his hunting life was complete and we settled down, I would never be playing track. And the chances of any of that happening? You just let me know when you start to see those pigs flying.

"Can we get back to his knee?" Dean snapped impatiently. I'd forgotten how much hospitals bugged Dean. I didn't really _hate_ hospitals, didn't love them either, but I could put up with a few extra minutes to have a good _(normal!)_ conversation with the Doc.

"Right," he said as he frowned a bit at Dean, "when did this happen?"

"Earlier this evening." It was going on almost nine pm now.

"What symptoms are you experiencing?"

"Pain," Dean supplied unhelpfully. "It's obvious something's wrong with his knee, can't you just tell us what and send us on our way?"

I could tell Dean was really starting to bother Mr. Doctor-man, so I stepped in.

"Sorry, we had a bad experience in a hospital a few months ago and Dean, he's my brother, doesn't care much for them." It wasn't a total lie. We had had some bad experiences but the last one was almost three years ago when a banshee went a little psycho and shredded Dean's chest. It was a bad experience, but we have enough of those that once the immediate threat, and the accompanying panic, are over, it doesn't bother us much. Really I think Dean just didn't like hospitals because we'd been raised to not like hospitals. Hospitals were nosy folk who demanded all sorts of information. The more fake information you had to leave, the more likely something would be noticed. It only took one person to notice something and look it up to realize it was fake. We just gambled that we'd be gone before they really figured anything out.

The doctor's face went from frustrated to sympathetic. "I'm sorry to hear that." I'm pretty sure his sympathy frustrated Dean more, if the fact that his hand was clutching my shoulder hard enough to leave bruises was anything to go by. "I'm fairly certain we're looking at a torn-ligament here, it's just a matter of which one - there are 4 main ones in the knee - how badly it's injured and which course of treatment to use. So if you _don't mind_," oh yeah, that was some serious snarkiness there, "what symptoms are you experiencing?"

"Well obviously there's swelling, it's pretty discolored. At first I didn't feel much pain, but now it's hurting more."

I felt Dean tense up a bit – yeah, big bro wasn't happy that I didn't tell him the pain had escalated.

"Scale of 1 – 10, then and now."

"Then maybe a 2, if that, and now maybe around a 6 or 7."

"I'm not surprised. Sometimes there's not that much pain at first with torn ligaments but pain escalates to be either moderate or severe. Did you feel weird standing?"

"I couldn't stand without Dean's help, but even then it felt like my knee…I don't know how to say it, it was really strange."

"Did it feel like you're knee was loose? Like wobbly?"

"Yeah."

"And can you tell me specifically how you injured it, like how you fell on it, the angle and all that. That's the key difference between injuries to the different ligaments, the direction and angle they get torn."

"I kinda fell forward," I wasn't really sure what to say. But I couldn't explain that I'd been too preoccupied by not getting crushed by falling chunks of rock.

"Like on to your shin first?"

"Yeah, and I think my foot was bent forward like you would if you were squatting down." A knowing look came onto the doctor's face and he jotted something down on his clipboard.

"Alright, I'm almost positive you tore you PCL – the posterior cruciate ligament. This often happens from either blunt trauma to the area right under the knee and above the shin – like in a car accident – or when people fall on a bent knee with their foot pointing down. The shinbone can move back slightly, thus over stretching the ligament causing it to tear. Now I'm just going to do a quick physical examination then get you a MRI for confirmation then we'll talk about courses of action." I nodded, grateful to know what was going on.

The doctor, whom only now did I notice his name tag said Winston, pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and grabbed some scissors. After the doctor professionally cut away my stretched jeans, my purplish and swollen knee was revealed

He gently prodded around the area and I prided myself on the fact that I didn't make any noise when it caused a few flares of pain. Then he moved my knee and foot in a few different directions to see how far it could extend. The very last thing he did is ask me to stand. It hurt – and I could see Dean struggling to refrain from helping me since the doctor has asked him to stand by (and that got Dr. Winston a one way ticket on to Dean's hate list). I was pretty wobbly and it hurt more and more but I managed a few steps, during which it felt like my knee had turned to jelly as it kept wiggling under my weight, before sitting down.

"Alright, I'd say definitely a torn PCL but thankfully it looks like you don't have any little bone fractures. That can happen with torn ligaments because pieces of the bone can break away when the ligament tears away." Even though it wasn't very graphic, it was still queasy to think about because it was _my_ knee. My knee where bones might be chipping away when the ligament tore off. The words tore off should never be associated with parts of the body. It sounded wrong.

"So the next step is getting you an MRI, which will show us the tear and if you have any other cartilage damage. Now where's your dad?"

"He's still in the waiting room filling out paperwork."

"Alright, I have to get his okay before giving you the MRI, but I'll be right back. The MRI shouldn't take long either, Dean." Oh, so he did notice that Dean looked less than happy at the prospect of waiting while I was off getting tests done. Smart man.

Once the test was done, I was brought back to the room via wheelchair (as embarrassing as it was, it was also nice to get off my knee and yes, though I'll never admit to it, it was fun.) and Dean interrogated me as to whether or not they hurt me at all. I simply put up with it. Even though it was unreasonable (I wasn't abducted by aliens, after all, they were only trying to help) I was used to it. Better an over-protective Dean than a Dean who didn't care.

"Basically," Dr. Winston said when he came back in. "there are two options. Surgery or no surgery. Some ligament tears are bad enough that they can't heal without surgery, but yours isn't that major so you have the choice. Surgery has been proven to lead to a quicker and, over the entire recovery period, a less painful recovery. Now having said that, you'll need more physical therapy afterwards and you'll have to stay off your knee longer immediately after the surgery.

Without surgery, we can give you some medication which will reduce swelling and bring the pain down. You'll have to do a little physical therapy before going to bed, the nurse can give you a list of exercises to do, and during the day you should wear a brace. Preferably with crutches for at least a week. There is potential that it won't heal properly on its own and if that's the case you'll need surgery, which would be a bit more invasive than the original, but that rarely happens. Most likely the injury you have, which isn't too bad, will take about two weeks for the majority of the pain to go away, then maybe three for it to disappear completely. You might get a twinge or two after that, and I urge you to refrain from sports for at least a month. I'll give you a little time to talk it over and I'll be back in a bit to hear the verdict."

We didn't have to talk about it. The answer was obvious. Surgery not only meant staying in the hospital longer, but staying in the town longer. There'd be follow up appointments plus physical therapy sessions at the hospital instead of doing a few exercises at home. True we could still skip town after the surgery, but surgery wasn't something we knew and we took any injuries that could cause long term problems seriously. Not to mention surgery was more money. And we might not be able to be out of town before the insurance company fired back saying they had no customers under that name.

When Dr. Winston came back ten minutes later I told him that we'd decided to go without surgery and he agreed saying that he never liked to perform unnecessary surgery because of the natural risks even the simplest of procedures included.

The next day, armed with mass amounts of Vicodin and brochures on physical therapy exercises as well as things to contact your doctor about, we headed out of town. I was laying on the backseat, my knee in a black brace and crutches lying on the floor.

Dad and Dean were in the front talking about the next hunt. I was…I don't really know what I was doing. Dean had made sure I was nicely juiced up on pain killers (probably with the hope of putting me to sleep) so my thoughts were strange and flowed from one to another with no real connection.

Despite my jumping thoughts, I did manage to pin down one.

This, whatever exactly _this _was, was the start of something big.

**TBC...**


	4. Minority

**Thanks so much for all the reviews, favorites, and alerts! They mean so much! I was a little sad that the amount of reviews went from 18 to 6 per chapter, but I guess I'll take what I can get. Please keep reviewing, they keep me writing!**

**Also, this still will contain a small amount of romance, it's more as just another way to torture Sam than anything else. Trust me she'll be gone very soon. Also, let me know if you see her name or her hair color (the hair color is crucial later) change at some point throughout the story, I tried very hard to make sure all the corrections were in place, but I could have missed some.**

**Disclaimer: No. *Sigh* **

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><p><strong>Length: 2,000<br>****Chapter: 4/16  
>Next Post: Late this week<br>Beta: Little Miss Artist (Thanks!)  
>WARNINGS: Drug abuse (see chap 1 for note) and swearing<strong>

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 3<strong>

Minority

_"Marching out of time  
>To my own beat<br>The only way I know"_

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><p>I should have known any school with the name Drearston High would be boring as hell. The teachers were underpaid and clearly uninterested in their own subjects. There was no 'class this is Sam, make him feel welcome.' It was just 'take your seat'. The sit down and shut up went unsaid. And as for the students, they were cold and kept to themselves. For the most part there were no 'cliques', no real <em>popular <em>people. The kids stayed in groups of 2 or 3 and shot dirty looks at the rest.

The whole town screamed drugs, alcohol and sex. It clearly wasn't the richest, but it didn't quite look like the murder-every-week, no-virgins-left, abandon-hope-all-ye-who-enter-here type place. It was one step up from that.

The first day we got there, Dad made a mysterious trip to the store after dropping us at the small apartment we were staying at.

He came back with an extra deadbolt which he screwed onto the door.

I kept to myself at school, never raising my hand – that's not to say I wouldn't give the answer if asked, I was still a school-buff after all – and leaving immediately after school. Dad and Dean had picked up a part time jobs as mechanics at the local place. They didn't work much, spending most of their time researching this hunt and others, just enough to get us by. I offered to pick up a job at the local bookstore (the red NOW HIRING sign in the window had immediately drawn my attention) but Dean insisted they had it covered.

Life was getting dull, I'll admit. School was a total drag and I didn't have much to do at home. Dean and Dad had already figured out who the witch was. But when we got to her house and found it empty, a neighbor, who was walking their dog and kept eyeing us fearfully, informed us she was on vacation. So we had about two weeks to kill until she came. And since the school year ended a week after that, I managed to convince Dad to let us stay until then.

By the time I'd gone to my first day of school, it'd been just over a week since the knee injury so after a couple of days of crutches and a black brace, I switched down to just a small brace that was slim enough to fit underneath my jeans. That plus painkillers and I was pretty good.

Like I said life was dull. The research was done, the teachers hardly cared enough to give homework and the "local hangouts" were, how should I put it…exclusive. Like gangs who would gladly shoot your ass type exclusive.

At home I read a lot and at school my attention wandered over other things.

The words of my history text book blurred and ran together. Text book reading in class. A cop-out of teaching if there ever was one. In front of me was a pudgy kid with mean little eyes name Zeke whom I could hear snoring. Like honest to God snoring. I had no doubt the teacher could hear it, but he didn't say anything.

The girl besides me was a real pretty one. She had straight blonde hair that fell around her shoulders like a curtain. The fine curves of her body were advertised by her tight green v-neck and her jeans showed her small, shapely bottom. But her eyes were the most amazing things. Deep and thoughtful, they were gorgeous and intriguing. She was smart too, no ditzy bimbo type here. Dean would call her a real catch. I called her a simple beauty.

I didn't even know her name, but I wanted her bad. Just to hold her and smell her strawberry-smelling hair would be enough. Even just to hold her delicate hand would be enough. Forward action was needed, I decided.

So when the bell rang I pretended to bump my book off the edge of my desk. It landed about an inch from her backpack and she jumped in surprise when it landed with a loud thump.

"Sorry," I said, shooting her a smile (_don't let my nervousness show!)_ and reached for it. Her well manicured nails grabbed it up and met me halfway there. Good thing too because my knee wasn't happy with bending that much.

"No problem." It was a soft, melodious voice that swirled around me like a comfy blanket on a cold winter day. "You're the new kid, aren't you?"

New kid. How I despised that title. It was like a caution label. Warning: New Kid – don't associate with or your social status will suffer. It garnered eye rolls from impatient teachers, smirks from cruel jocks (as if you could sit with _us_) and drew bullies like flies to honey.

"Yeah," I said, trying to seem like that didn't bother me. It was dehumanizing too. Like labeling you with a number instead of a name. It's not 'oh, there's goes Sam, the new kid.' it's 'Oh, there goes the New Kid.' You weren't an individual, just another fish packed into the sardine can.

"I'm Kris," she said, offering her hand. Manners. Another bonus and seemingly non-existent quality in this lowdown town.

"Sam." Her hand was soft, definitely a moisturizer user, but she had a strong shake. A girl who was both feminine yet strong. It reminded me of Dean's cheesy pick-up line about angels falling from heaven. (_Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?_) If there was such a thing, then the girl before me was certainly an angel fallen from heaven. (_Someone call the cops, 'cause heaven's missing an angel)_

"That's a nice name." Even though the line was rarely sincere, she sounded absolutely honest.

"Well so is Kris."

"Oi! Move it!" By the door stood a tall, skinny boy of maybe seventeen with pasty white skin and long, shaggy black hair. He was wearing a black t-shirt with a bloody knife on it and dark jeans which hung low on his skinny frame. "Yeah, you there," he said when he met my curious gaze. "Get your scrawny ass away from my girlfriend." I thought it was rich of him to call me scrawny, but I wisely stayed silent.

Kris closed her eyes and her hands curled slightly. Somehow I couldn't imagine such a sweet girl with such a rough boy. A flare of worry went up in me. He wasn't…hitting her or something was he? I was tempted to tell Mr. Too-Much-Testosterone over there to shut the hell up and let Kris do whatever she wanted to do. But I ignored it and quietly slid my book into my bag. As I swung it over my shoulder about to leave, I heard Kris whisper, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She nodded and went over to her boyfriend. He instantly wrapped and arm around her, forcefully pulling her closer. His hand wandered down to her bottom and she stiffened, clearly uncomfortable. He led her out.

I sighed, a sea of emotions whirling away inside of me. Cringing as my knee groaned under me, I made my way out of the classroom and down the stairs. As agreed, Dean was there to give me a ride, but he needed to go to work immediately afterward so I was home alone.

After the listening to Dean chatter away about some 'hot babe's wicked car' for the entire car ride, the silence of the empty apartment was oppressing.

"I should do my homework," I announced to the empty room to remove the silence. My algebra homework only took about 20 minutes and that was all I had.

Not knowing what to do with myself, I decided to hop in the shower to wash away the day's stress. I didn't turn the water on too warm – Dean would bitch later – but just enough to be relaxing.

My knee was still hurting a bit (I had to wait until dinner to take my next dose of Vicodin) but it was manageable. It was with great reluctance that I turned off the shower and stepped out. The scratchy white towel was thin and didn't warm me in the slightest. With one towel around my waist, I used the other to towel my dripping hair. I must have gotten a bit carried away in my head shaking because my knee gave a fierce twang and I stumbled back. The baby blue mat on the floor slid out from under me and I fell over backward. My knees folded in half and I ended up landing on my ass in the bath, knees hanging over the edge and head smacking against the white tile wall.

Even though my head didn't hit that hard, stars still swam before my eyes. My knee flamed up and for a second I thought I'd surely broken it, the pain it was in. A little inspection showed no new damage, but I'd clearly irritated it. I tried to get up, but my hands slipped on the still wet shower floor and I couldn't get enough leverage from my knees to get out without causing myself intense pain.

Laying there like a beetle on its back, I couldn't help but feel pathetic. Laying in the tub like an old person in one of those commercials _"Help, I've fallen and can't get up!" _They always seemed funny until it was me who couldn't get up. What was I gonna do? Just lay here until Dean got home? That was at least half an hour…

As shamed as I was about lying there pathetically waiting for my brother to come home (_Help, I've fallen and can't get up!) _I didn't really have any other options. I simply couldn't get up, it was just too painful. Dean was gonna tease me to no end, but I'd deal. It was no less than I deserved anyway. What kind of weak idiot couldn't get out of the shower because his knee hurt? If I was stronger like Dean, I'd just power through the pain and get up. No way in hell would Dean ask for help.

My legs were starting to tingle as I lost circulation in them and the water on my back was starting to get very cold. My arms were lying uselessly at my side because I wasn't sure what to do with them. I tried a few more times to get out but my hands only slid around and my knee would spark up again. If my arms were just a bit longer I would have been able to reach the door knob and pull myself at out, but as is, I was stuck.

It was about twenty minutes before I heard the door open. As I steeled myself to call for help, I reminded myself that at least I had a towel around my waist.

"Where you at, Sam?" Dean called as he came in. Dad got home in another hour so at the very least I was spared the embarrassment of him seeing me.

"In the bathroom…would you mind giving me a hand?"

I heard his footsteps as he approached the door and just before pushing it open he called out, "doing what exactly?"

"Just need a hand," I said vaguely. I couldn't bring myself to say I needed help getting up. He hesitantly pushed the door open, the squeak seeming loud and condemning.

"What happened?" he asked seeming both surprised and worried.

"Just fell," I said dismissively, like I wasn't stuck in a tub. "I can't…my knee…" I wanted to cry all of a sudden. Dean's face instantly turned to one of sympathy.

"Alright, princess, let's get you out," he said quietly. It wasn't mocking or even teasing, just concerned and ready to help.

Even though he wasn't teasing me, my cheeks still burned as he bent down to help. He grabbed my shoulders as I latched my hands around his neck. I stumbled forward after being pulled to my asleep feet.

"Whoa," Dean cautioned as he stabilized me.

"Sorry, legs fell asleep." My legs weren't the only things that were tired. My eyes started dropped right there as I leaned against Dean.

"How's the knee?"

"Pills would be good," I mumbled.

"Coming right up."

**TBC...**

**Like it? Dislike it? Leave me a review and let me know!**


	5. Murder City

**I've only got a few min this morning so I'm just going to say thank you so much for the reviews/alerts/favs! You guys rock!**

**Becci: Thank you for your review. You're totally right, it's only going to get worse! **

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><p><strong>Length: 2,500<br>****Chapter: 5/16  
>Next Post: Next week (early)<br>****Beta: Little Miss Artist (Thanks buddy!)  
>WARNINGS: Drug abuse (see chap 1 for note) and swearing<strong>

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 4<strong>

Murder City

_"This demonstration of our anguish  
>This empty laughter has no reason<br>Like a bottle of our favorite poison"_

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><p>I sat at the wooden kitchen table doing my homework, my knee tapping up and down in nervousness. It was going on eight and neither Dean nor Dad was home. My gaze flicked up to the large calendar hanging on the wall. Besides the date of the hunt and my note about the due date of my school project, the squares were empty. I was tempted to make something up and write it up there just so it wouldn't seem so empty. So we'd seem a little more normal.<p>

There was only one large red X that I used to cross off each day.

November 2nd, 1999. That was today's date. 16 years to the day since Mom's death.

I was hardly surprised when neither Dad nor Dean showed up after work. Probably at a bar.

If it were up to me, we would spend today together, doing something as a family. I like to think that Mom would have wanted that. Instead of separating and getting drunk on the anniversary of her death, I think she'd want us to be together in silent support. Besides, in all honesty, we're lucky that all three of us are still alive. Hunting is like that – alive one day, gone the next. And we'd made it this far, hadn't we?

Normally family deaths do one of two things: Bring people together or tear them apart. Either everyone comes together in the wake of loss to support each other and share the grief. Or everyone falls apart. I've heard stories of parents getting divorced after the death of a child or people not speaking because they think things were handled wrong. Death is mysterious like that. It's one giant What If. What If I hadn't done that or What If you'd done this instead. It's like one giant blame game. Some blame themselves, some blame each other and the end result is always one destroyed family.

But we'd done neither. You could argue we'd been brought closer because of it, but I disagree. Physically maybe (hey, motel rooms are small, okay?) not emotionally. We don't talk about emotions and as a whole we're fairly distant from each other. Even Dean and I were drifting a bit. We had different priorities. And yes, Dean and I were about as close as it got because of Mom's death, but part of me thinks that's out of obligation more than anything. It's habit now. But on the other end, we weren't totally destroyed. We stayed as a family, we didn't go around cursing each other or screaming that it was so and so's fault. We ate meals together at the table (fast food is still food) and we collaborated ideas for hunts. So in a way, we'd both come closer and fallen apart.

I don't know what would have happened if Mom hadn't died. We may have grown up peachy-keen, a regular Brady bunch. Maybe Dean and I would argue all the time or maybe I'd be some weird rebel kid who swore that life wasn't fair and everyone was out to get me. And I don't know what Mom would have wanted for us after her death. Neither do Dad or Dean. I think therein lies part of the problem. We all think something different. I think to go move on as a normal family, Dad thinks revenge, Dean thinks whatever as long as we're together.

I pushed my chair back from the table, intent on calling Dean to see where they were. Hopefully they were still able to drive. I didn't want them to drive drunk and I didn't want to drive over in the Impala (they carpooled in Dad's truck to work each day) just to get them, but I knew I would if it was necessary.

One ring. Two rings. Three rings. Voicemail.

Rolling my eyes, I grabbed my jacket. There was only two bars in town, one of which was way the hell across town, so it wouldn't be hard to find them.

There was a heavy stench inside the bar, it hit me in a tidal wave as soon as I opened the door. It smelled of sweat, booze and a tiny bit of blood. The bar was in the shape of an L with a pool table at the back end of the long part of the L. Maroon booths lined the outside walls and a classic bar with stools ran along the inside parts.

Even though I was only 16, no one stopped me or demanded I show identification.

It didn't take me long to spot Dean in the back at the pool table holding a beer in one hand and a pool cue in the other. Dean may only be 20, but he had dashing looks and a fake license that said he was 21. A fat wad of cash, the wager no doubt, was sitting on the corner behind one of the pockets. Dean lined up then took his shot, sinking two balls. The two men playing against him made guttural noises as they realized they'd just been hustled.

I walked over and grabbed Dean's shoulder. He whipped around, intent on punching whoever it was, then stopped when he saw it was me.

"Sammy!" he slurred in drunken excitement. "What are you doing here?"

"Taking you guys home. Where's Dad?"

"In a booth," he said as he gestured vaguely along the wall.

"Finish your game then we're leaving," I said firmly. Dean looked slightly annoyed and surprised, but I walked away before he got a chance to argue.

Dad was hunched over, nursing a beer. There were a few empty bottles sitting on the top of the linoleum too.

"Dad." I tried to be firm, yet softly understanding. 'I know you're in pain but I need you to listen' sort of thing. Bloodshot eyes looked up at me with an alarming amount of misery. He didn't question my presence as I hovered.

"She hated Bud Lite, you know?" Dad said conversationally as he rolled the bottle between his fingers.

"Dad-"

"Always was a wine fan. But if it had to be beer she liked Miller Lite." I wasn't sure why he was telling me this, but I had to admit part of me was soaking it up like a sponge. Any information, whether it be favorite beer or favorite food or, hell, even favorite pair of shoes, was nice to know. Dad and Dean already knew it and didn't want to talk about it. But I didn't know anything and I badly wanted to. Mom was just this figment without real substance at the moment. She wasn't a person, just a concept. It may sound harsh or like I didn't love her and want her here – couldn't be more untrue – but it was how I honestly felt.

"Okay. Why don't you finish that up and I'll drive you and Dean home?"

"I'm not five," he murmured before taking one final swig of the amber liquid.

"Yes, but you are drunk," I said as I waved at the waitress for the check. "How much for him and the man at the pool table with the leather jacket?"

"Oh, do you know him?" Yet another woman lost to Dean's good looks.

"Yes, he's my brother. How much?" With a roll of her eyes she told me the amount and I paid in cash. "Wait by the car," I told Dad after she'd left.

"I'm _your_ father, not the other way around," he slurred as he staggered to his feet. As he walked with an unsteady gait out to the car, I knew I'd made the right decision in coming to get them.

Dean was just collecting his loot as I walked up. "Aw, Sammy, I was just getting to the good stuff!" Based on the glares Dean was getting, I had the feeling that if he stayed any longer 'the good stuff' would involve some flying fists.

"Whatever you say, Dean, now let's get out of here." I took him by the elbow and steered him outside to the car. As we walked up to the two black cars parked side by side, Dean asked, "I assume you and Dad are taking the truck?"

"What? Dean, no, you're too drunk to drive."

"Am not," he countered, "Look, I can walk straight and everything." He demonstrated by walking along the white line between parking spaces. He made it all the way, but I knew Dean. He was smart when he was drunk and usually did a pretty good job of hiding it.

"Yeah, well, I'm not taking any chances. I'll take a cab back after and get the truck."

"Why? Just let me drive and spare yourself the twenty bucks. I can drive fine!" As strange as it sounded, Dean was pretty good at driving when intoxicated. He'd done it a few times before I'd gotten my license and he was yet to crash. I knew Dean was smart enough to not drive if he really thought he couldn't handle it, but I still worried.

"Okay…but stay behind me." I wasn't fooling him, we both knew I was only saying that so I could make sure he didn't go to fast or do any risky moves. Dean rolled his eyes, but nodded. Dad slid into the passenger's seat of the truck while Dean got behind the wheel of the Impala. I sighed and handed over the keys to the black muscle car in exchange for the truck keys.

"You're a responsible kid, you know that?" Dad said as I pulled out of the parking lot. He didn't say it in revelation or drunken pride, more in a matter-of-fact way, like he was reminding me.

"Yeah, Dad."

"Your mom would be proud." I tried to hide the slight tense of my own shoulders but I doubted Dad would have noticed in his current state anyway. Dean was riding right on my tale, no doubt trying to get me to go faster, but I kept firm at the speed limit.

"I would do anything to bring her back," Dad murmured with his eyes closed. I got the impression he didn't even know he'd spoken.

"Is that so?" I asked uninterestedly. I didn't want to know just how far Dad would go.

"I should have gotten there quicker. If I'd just woken up a minute earlier and ran upstairs…I could have just grabbed her and run out of the room before that bastard got a go at her."

"Just grabbed her?" I asked, trying to stomp down on the painful flare in my chest. What I was really asking was, _Would you rather have left me and saved her?_ But I think he was too drunk to realize that.

"Yeah, would have just grabbed her…" Even though at first I almost screamed, I realized he might not mean it like that. He wasn't putting emphasis on the 'her' so maybe he was focusing on his actual actions not the persons involved. 'I would have just _grabbed_ her', not 'I would have just grabbed _her.' _They were two entirely different sentences but I would never know which he really meant because his head hit the window with a dull thud and his soft snores reached my ears.

Sighing, I pulled into our driveway with Dean on my tail. I saw the impala's lights click off in my rearview mirror and the roaring engine fell silent. I only had to shake Dad's shoulder once to get him to come to. I didn't wait around for him and slid out of the car as soon as he opened his eyes. Dean stumbled ever slightly – I mentally cursed myself for not insisting harder about him driving – but stayed up right.

Dean went right into his bedroom and crashed on the bed. Dad dropped heavily into one of the creaky chairs around the kitchen table. He had grabbed himself a beer, out of habit more than anything most likely, but I replaced it with a bottle of water.

I don't think he noticed.

As much as I wanted to go to bed, there were dishes to be done from the spaghetti I'd made for dinner. So I stood by the sink, the pale moonlight shining through the large window above the sink, and scrubbed burned tomato sauce off of one of the only two pots we owned. I could hear Dad behind me taking the occasional deep breath or a swig of water.

How many other kids, I wondered, did the dishes as a chore? A lot. How many did dishes after making dinner themselves? Still a fair amount. How many did dishes after making dinner themselves because their father and brother were out getting drunk and then said kid had to go retrieve them? Only one.

"You know…" he ended abruptly like he was pretending he'd never spoken in the first case.

"What?" I wondered if we were going to have another rendition of the 'you're a responsible kid' thing.

"You're skinny." Since I was standing at a ninety degree angle from Dad, I felt quite subconscious. Sure my baggy shirt was hanging off me, but I still had some muscle…right?

I almost blurted out that it was because we never had enough food, but I refrained. One because I knew we really didn't have money to spare and we did have enough food to live, even if it wasn't a ton. And two because the way Dad was, he would likely either turn into a weeping sap about how terrible a father he was or start throwing punches.

Either way, I didn't want to deal with it.

So instead I said simply, "I guess so."

"You need more muscle or you'll never make a good hunter." Now he was starting to annoy me.

"I'm not a bad hunter." And it was true. I wasn't the greatest – and I certainly wasn't as good as Dean or Dad – but I did have enough skill to get by. I was an average hunter, especially for someone as young as me.

Dad made a soft noise, impossible to tell whether he agreed or not, then stood up with an abrupt, "I'm going to bed." I watched him go, feeling strangely alone and small in the empty kitchen bathed in moonlight.

It took me nearly two minutes to get back to doing dishes, but I stopped almost immediately. My stomach gave an uncomfortable twist and I had barely a minute's notice to get to the bathroom before it expelled my days food. I didn't really feel particularly ill, but I did feel hot. Like it'd just gone up a couple degrees.

Once my stomach stopped painfully contracting, I flushed, wiped off my mouth and splashed some water on my face. My face was pale and I did look faintly sick. But for some reason, I looked _skinny._ Like I'd dropped ten pounds in the last five minutes.

_You'll never make a good hunter._

He was right, I wouldn't. Not looking like that anyway. I needed to bulk up, put on more muscle, train more, _learn _more. To put it simply, I need to be a better hunter. I needed to be more like Dean.

What I needed was a damn Vicodin.

**TBC...**


	6. Haushinka

**Okay so originally this was going to be posted today, then yesterday I was upset and was no longer going to post this today, then I got a review which was upsetting, but then I decided what the hell, I write for me and no one else. Everyone's entitled to their opinion after all.**

**Enjoy. **

**P.S. Just so you guys know, Kris will be gone next chapter. No she will not be Sam's girlfriend, no she will not get him hooked on drugs. I know you all dislike her, but just stick through this chapter.**

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><p><strong>Length: 2,500<br>****Chapter: 6/16  
>Next Post: Next week (early)<br>****Beta: Little Miss Artist (Thanks buddy!)  
>WARNINGS: Drug abuse (see chap 1 for note) and swearing<strong>

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 5<strong>

Haushinka

_"Yet again I'm kicking myself  
>And I'll be here in battle scars<br>Waiting for you"_

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><p>"Sam?"<p>

"Yes?" I replied lazily. Didn't they understand I was exhausted from spending all night listening to my drunk family puking?

"Will you read the next passage?" I looked down at his beaten copy of Macbeth. Hell if I knew where we were. Try as I might, I couldn't recall a single word the last reader had said.

"Sure." I picked a spot midway down the page and started reading. If I got it wrong, no one said anything. I doubted they noticed. A third of the class was sleeping, a third texting and a few doodling while the remaining couple of students stared off into space. Except for Jane Lynn. I don't know what that girl's story was, but every single question, her hand flew in the air. Pop goes the weasel. Don't know what she was trying to prove or to whom, but not getting called on was certainly a way to get her down. Teachers both liked her and disliked her. She was the only student who cared or volunteered information, but she also asked deeper questions, forcing the teachers to either dig through their memory or prove they really don't know what the hell they're talking about.

"Nice job," the teacher said, looking a little hung over herself. "Now, can you tell me the importance of…line…line…"

"39." Jane said, her black braids swinging slightly. She reminded me of that girl from the Addams family…what was her name? Oh right, Wednesday. Because "Wednesday's child is full of woe" or however the phrase went.

"Exactly, line 39. What's the importance Sam?"

Hell if I knew.

The teacher's face flushed and her eyes narrowed.

Damn, did I say that aloud?

"Care to say that again?" Feeling a strange rush of rebellion (that may or may not have had anything to do with the painkiller I downed at lunch - just enough to dull the pain without knocking me senseless) I bucked up my courage.

"Sure. I said 'Hell if I know.'"

"As you clearly feel the need to disrespect me-"

"Clearly Jane-y over there knows the answer, why don't you call on her?" Twenty or so pairs of eyes jumped from the teacher to myself like they were watching a tennis match of skill to rival that of the Williams sisters. Jane looked quite surprised – probably more at the disrespect of a teacher than the reference to herself – and slowly lowered her hand.

"Detention!" she shrieked suddenly. Ah, so she was the type of teacher that got nervous when they couldn't sustain all control.

"Sure thing," I said, with a surprising amount of Dean-like swagger.

"See me after class." She spun on her heel, her lose bun bouncing dangerously, and stalked over to the chalkboard. The chalk crumbled as she slammed it into the board, attempting to write through her frustration.

Now that the immediate burst of adrenaline (that still may or may not have been mildly drug induced) was receding, I felt a little shame. What the hell was I doing? Mouthing off to a teacher and blatantly disrespecting her?

One thing was for sure, that path didn't lead to Ivy League. Mind you, my Ivy League path was de-bricked a long time ago by a bulldozer by the name of John Winchester. Which made Dean the lamppost that fell in the street, wanting to stop you but knowing it wouldn't hold you back if you really wanted to go on.

I just compared my brother to a lamp. Guess the drugs had a stronger effect than I thought.

I called Dean, told him I'd be staying after school late. He asked why. I said school project. The detention room was held in the same room as Health class so not only was it sterile white, but there were pictures I'd rather not stare at for half an hour plastered on the wall. Staring determinedly at Macbeth, I tried to drown out the silence with my own thoughts.

"I'll be right back, I'm just going to run down the copier. Please behave yourselves."

A tall order in my opinion.

The attending teacher shut the door behind her and immediately chatter broke out.

"Hey, sweetcheeks," the guy behind me called.

"I have a name, Ty, use it." A shiver crept up my spine as I realized who was standing behind me as well as this Ty guy.

"Cool it, Kris, I'm just messing with you." As much as I didn't want anyone messing with her (_I barely knew her and she was already mine?) _it would also provide a nice opportunity for a knight in shining armor to step in.

People were starting to fall silent as they let themselves watch the show with no pretense of false conversations. I probably looked stupid, staring at my book when I was so obviously listening.

"Don't you touch me! I'm not a plaything for you boys to pass around!"

"Well you ain't exactly a virgin either, pussy cat." That got a couple chuckles from boys across the room and I felt my own face grow hot. That wasn't what I wanted her for, I justified to myself. I wanted her as a person, not as a toy. I didn't want anyone as just a toy.

"Did your boyfriend catch you fucking someone else? Is that why you're so upset?" Another boy mocked.

"That's enough," I said dangerously, without looking up. Mentally, I prayed she wasn't really that type of girl. Everyone fell silent like some classic movie cliché.

"That so?" I slowly rose from my seat and spun around to face him, trying not to show my surprise at his large size.

"Damn right. You…ain't got no right talking to her like that." I was hoping my misuse of grammar sounding at least a bit intimidating. Kris looked surprised and confused, like she couldn't quite remember who I was and why I was defending her.

"Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it, faggot?" Time to ramp down the testosterone levels, I decided.

"Look, man," I said, changing tactics completely, "I don't want a fight or anything. Just treat her with a little more respect, that's all."

"You ain't the boss of me," he snarled. With a classic intimidation move, he shoved me back with a hand on each of my shoulders. I jerked one of his shoulders back with my own hand in a 'you wanna go?' gesture. I didn't want to go, but I would if I needed to.

He pulled back a fist to deck me, but a sharp voice called out in concern, "Boys!" We both un-tensed our shoulders (_Don't even know the fuckers name, oh wait, it was Ty wasn't it? Did it matter?)_ and released our hold on each other. I went to take a step back to my desk, when a foot shot out. I tripped going down on one knee – thank God it wasn't the injured one – and staying down for a second while my other knee flared in pain at the ninety degree angle.

After a moment, I stood up and snagged my bag, intent on getting as far away as possible. Almost out the door, someone stopped me.

"Wait!" Kris's delicate hand snagged onto my arm and I barely managed to stop from breaking her wrist out of reflex. As useful as hunter skills were, sometimes I thought they weren't worth all the trouble they caused in everyday life.

"Do I know you?" she asked curiously. Her pretty eyes pinched slightly as she tried to recall my face. I had the odd desire to say something like '_don't you remember me? We totally made out at that party a couple weeks ago._' But of course I didn't. I did just give the whole respect woman speech, after all.

"Only in passing," I said, trying to suppress any bitterness. I shook my arm out of her grasp and turned for the door. If the teacher had any protest of me leaving, she kept it to herself.

As soon as I heard the door click behind me (_She didn't come after!)_ I left out a couple deep breaths. That fall had really done a number on my knee and now little needles of pain danced. Vicodin. I needed Vicodin. This was justified, the good Doc told me to take some if I had any pain.

I was almost to the staircase before a voice behind me called.

"Hey! Hey, wait!" Knowing I wouldn't be able to escape this conversation, I took a seat on the top step. My knee was burning lightly and I used my nimble fingers to gently massage the area. I needed to get up and get home so I could have some relief from this pain.

"Hey," she said softly. I didn't even bother to look. There was only one person it'd be. I tried to pretend my heart didn't flutter a bit when she sat down next to me. Her blonde hair brushed my arm when she tossed it back over her shoulder. "I remember you by the way. You're Sam."

"And you're Kris," I stated matter-of-factly.

"You left so quickly I didn't get to thank you for coming to my rescue." Her voice was soft and silky yet warm like a kitten curled up on your lap. She seemed far more confident now than she did before.

"You're welcome, I don't mind…is there something in your eye?" I asked slowly when she blinked several times, showing me her light blue eyelids and long lashes. She snickered and bent her head as a faint blush crept up her cheeks.

"That's what I like about you, Sam. You're so…innocent, like a flower that hasn't yet experienced the harsh of winter." I wasn't sure what to say to that. After all, I hardly considered myself innocent. Was there such a word when describing a hunter?

Though I had to give her credit, it certainly seemed poetic. Pretty, sensitive and smart…Why on Earth was she talking to me?

"That's, uh, nice." Wow, that was real smooth. Where was my inner Dean when I needed him? Where had my spunk gone?

She gave me another small smile which turned kind of sad. "That's rare around here, innocence that is. Everyone here is all about sex, drugs and alcohol." I nodded, feeling like a total outsider. "You remember my boyfriend, Billie?" How could I forget? "Right, well he got mixed up in a lot of bad shit, that's why I dumped him." Despite the way my heart soared at these words, (_she didn't cheat!)_ I tried to appear sympathetically upset.

"I'm sorry."

She sighed a long, heavy sigh. "Don't be. I knew right from the start he'd be trouble, but what's a girl to do but try anyways?" She laughed a bit, an ironic kind of laugh. It sounded wrong coming from her sweet lips. "But you're not like that are you, Sam. I can tell just by looking at you that there's something special about you."

I felt she was sorely mistaken.

I said nothing, not sure how forward to be with her, after all she did just say she'd recently broken up with her boyfriend. The last thing I wanted to do is seem insensitive.

"Is something wrong with your knee?" she said as she noticed for the first time me absently rubbing said appendage.

"Oh, yeah, tore a ligament about two weeks back."

"Doing what?"

"Sports," I lied easily. Besides that would make me seem more manly.

"Oh," she said, practically deflating right before my eyes.

"Track," I clarified. Perhaps she didn't want a manly, manly athlete. Like a football or hockey player. Maybe she just wanted someone a _little_ manly. I suddenly realized how odd women were.

"Oh," she repeated, but this time she brightened as she said it. So a sensitive dude who's not obsessed with sports? I can be that. For her, I'd be a flying hedgehog if that's what it took.

We sat in companionable silence for a few more minutes before I finally decided to take forward action. I couldn't just expect everything to come to me without a little effort on my part.

"Do you wanna come over sometime? Just to hang out?" I didn't want to seem like I was thinking about sex or only wanted to make out with her. Because that wasn't true (though I can't deny the mental images of her in only lingerie was a nice one) I wanted to get to know her as a person as well. Unlike Dean, I thought of women – or girls really, she was still a girl – as more than just an object to be used for a night of pleasure. Not a toy like Ty said. And not property like Billie thought.

A large smile broke across her face and she nodded enthusiastically. I was amazed by how much her eyes could light up when she was happy.

"Tomorrow?" she offered hesitantly.

"Sure." She frowned for a second before saying, "I have piano lessons after school tomorrow, maybe I could come over around 4:30?"

"Do you want to stay for dinner?" Despite the shock on her face, I got the feeling that was exactly what she wanted to do. Perhaps she wanted even more. Here I was all worried about seeming horny when she was already way ahead!

"I'd hate to intrude…but I suppose if you really don't mind then I'd love to stay for dinner."

"Alright, tomorrow at 4:30 it is."

"Can't wait."

Damn if that seductive smile didn't make me just a bit hornier than I started out that morning.

**TBC...**

**Good? Bad? Too slow? Let me know! Thanks for your reviews, favs, and alerts, please keep it up! :)**

**Becci:** Thanks! I know what you mean, I think both of the Winchester boys are forced to act older than are.


	7. Nice Guys Finish Last

**Hey guys! We're almost half way through the story - seems hard to believe! Things will start to go faster in the next few chapters. Thank you so much for all the reviews, alerts, favs, they really mean so much to me! This chaptere starts a little silly because I was having serious fun messing with Sam (what can I say - I've embraced my inner sadist) but it will get more drama-y. Hope you enjoy the little humor as a break from the angst. And realize that some of Sam's oddness later comes from the drugs. **

**Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Length: 3,200<br>****Chapter: 7/16  
>Next Post: Early Next Week<br>****Beta: Little Miss Artist (Thanks buddy!)  
>WARNINGS: Drug abuse (see chap 1 for note) and swearing<strong>

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 6<strong>  
>Nice Guys Finish Last<p>

_"Your sympathy will get you left behind  
>Sometimes you're at your best<br>When you feel the worst"_

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><p>Ten minutes. I just needed to borrow the car for ten goddamn minutes. It'd been fine all week but when I went to start it as I left the gas station store, it wouldn't start.<p>

Didn't the damn car know I had a date to be getting to?

At least it'd had the decency to break down at a gas station. The owner's brother worked at the mechanics so thankfully he said he would be right over with some supplies. I was waiting patiently, leaning up against the hood with my arms crossed. The owner was standing across from me, smoking.

I glanced nervously at my watch. 4:21. This was only supposed to be a quick, ten minute trip there and back!

"So when's your date start?" the man asked.

"What? How did you…"

"You're checking your watch every ten seconds, and you just bought a pack of condoms, doesn't take a genius." Right because I needed a reminder of that supremely awkward purchase. That was why I hadn't yet called Dean. He'd asked what I had needed to buy that was so essential to have right then. No way was I telling my brother what I was buying. Besides, I doubted I would need them, but better safe than sorry.

"9 minutes," I answered in response to his initial question.

"Well don't worry, Romeo, that's my bro pulling up now." It was a rusty red pickup truck with some tools sliding around in the bed. A tall man with high cheekbones and spiky hair climbed out. Like his younger sibling, this man had a fresh looking Camel cigarette dangling from his lip. Grabbing a tool box from the passenger seat, he made his way over to us.

"Hey, little bro, what can I do for you?"

"This kid here, his truck won't start."

"Well," he said as he put the toolbox down and pushed up his sleeves, "let's see what we can do about that.

"Oh, and hurry up, Lou, kid's got a sex date tonight." I felt my face flame up as Lou turned to look at me with one eyebrow raised.

"And a virgin too," he said as he looked me up and down.

"I am not!" I protested, though I knew the crack in my voice showed my lie for what it was. I wanted badly to pull my hood up on my head and disappear in its depth.

I squirmed impatiently as they popped the hood and Lou got to work with Mr. Store-Owner peering over his shoulder.

"Should I just walk? Can I have it towed to our place?"

"Sorry, no can do, kid, small town like us and we only got one tow truck. It's out on a back road towing some Subaru out of a ditch. But chill, little virgin man, it won't take but 5 minutes." He sounded so laid back, it made me want to change into surfing clothes and start calling people bro with that fancy Californian accent that made it sound like _brah_. Who knows, maybe even get myself a nice pair of shades and flip flops. Wouldn't Dean be surprised.

4:29. She'd be there any second. Some first date. I mean, not a date, but a casual hanging out of two people. She hardly knew anything about me – not that I'd tell her much of anything besides lies – and here I was saying we were dating.

"Hey, kid, if you grab me that bottle out of the passenger side of my truck, I'll fill up your wiper fluid while I'm in here for free."

"That's really not necessary, I'd rather just-"

"A man offers you free auto work, you accept and beg for more, you don't pass it up, any mechanic will tell you that," Lou said with a smirk.

Sounded like something Dean would say too.

Sighing audibly, I made my way over to the back of the truck and practically sprinted the bottle over to Lou. By the time he finished that up, put the equipment away and did a quick check to make sure the car started and everything, he finally said I was good to go. I put it in gear and pulled out, going way faster than the speed limit.

By the time I pulled into the parking lot next to our apartment building it was 7 minutes past. Growling at Fate for being such a bitch, I stalked up the steps and tried to smooth out my rumbled shirt a bit.

I shoved my key into the lock (_always keep it locked no matter what!)_ and checked my reflection in the face of my watch. With a deep breath and an apology on my lips I pushed open the door.

"Look, Kris, I'm so sorry…" My voice faltered and dropped off as I registered what I was seeing.

Dean and Kris were sitting on the old beige couch.

Not just sitting.

Kissing.

My brother was kissing - no, _making out – _with my girlfriend! Or…would be girlfriend. The guilty eyes, her brown ones and his green ones, looked up at me, both showing the same shock. Her blonde hair was still partially splayed across Dean's shirt and his (_my brother!_) wandering hand was still holding her thigh. The light was behind Dean's shoulder and the angle cast shadows on both of their faces making them look like parts of a Ying and Yang.

Kris was the first to recover. Shoving Dean's hand away, she jerked to her feet and started straightening her wrinkled shirt.

"Oh…wow…Sam…I'm so sorry...I just got caught up and…" She spoke sort of choppy-like, as though she was making it up word by word instead of as a whole sentence; putting thought and weight into each syllable. The way someone guilty tried to apologize when they were on the spot.

"I think it's time you leave," I said, and then because I had felt and extreme sense of betrayal and anger roar up in me, I added, "unless you're not done making out with my brother, that is."

"It wasn't like that! Sam, I swear, it was-" By now Dean had risen to his feet as well and was also stammering excuses and apologies.

"Oh I know. You're sorry and you didn't mean to and it. Just. Happened." By the end of my sentence I was speaking through clenched teeth and lacing each word with venom. My rattle was rattling and I was just waiting for my chance to jump out and sink my fangs in.

"Sam, don't blame her, I was the one-"

"No, Sam, it's not his fault." They seemed to think injecting the word Sam into every sentence would calm me down. It wasn't working.

"I don't really care, honestly. Because the way I see it, you've both betrayed me in one way or another and you're both at fault. Maybe one of you started it or maybe not, but it takes two to tango and, from where I'm standing, neither of you were objecting."

"Sam-"

"Enough with the Sam's! Kris, I apologize for being late, I didn't realize seven minutes late was a make it or break deal. But if you would now do me the kindness of leaving, it would be much appreciated."

Her amber eyes flicked over to Dean than back to me. Finally, she swept her purse up and walked towards the door. Just as she passed me, she stopped. Her eyes dropped close and softly she whispered, "I'm sorry."

Suddenly I was transported back to a time earlier that week. A time when a girl, still unfamiliar at that point, stood before me and apologized in the same manner for how her boyfriend acted. For the briefest moment, I could see myself as Billie. A punk with a fuck you attitude two sizes too big. Someone who'd grow up to be a criminal. Or maybe a wife beater. Whichever.

I suddenly wanted to puke. I wasn't like that was I? I wasn't being unfair to her? I was late…but was that justification? My mind screamed no, but the virgin part of me that had a mad mad crush on this girl screamed yes and told me to forgive and forget.

For a second her eyes met mine and I saw tears shimmering in their mysterious depths. I was hit with the desire to scoop her into my arms and just hold her close. Forget sex, I wanted comfort.

She leaned up and kissed me gently on the cheek, her light pink gloss leaving a faint residue, then pulled away. It wasn't a long kiss, a blink and miss it type of moment, but it left a weird feeling on my cheek. Like she'd left some magic warmth. The ghost of her kiss hung over me like a fuzzy blanket.

I didn't notice her leave until the door shut behind her. For one vivid moment, I remember that painful lurch in my chest when I first thought she wasn't coming after me. And the spasm of excitement when I heard her coming up behind me. The thought that this could actually be the start of something.

But I still didn't go after her. Maybe Ty and all them were right. Maybe she really just wanted sex, maybe she went through boys like tissues.

Maybe I wanted her anyway.

"Sam…" Dean said slowly.

"Don't, Dean. Just…don't."

The bathroom felt cold and empty after I shut the door. The white washed walls and the white ceramic created a very sterile and very…emotionless mood. I shoved the bag from the gas station – my fingers had numbly held on through the afternoon's events – under the sink. I wasn't so sure I wanted to get into a relationship anymore. I wasn't even dating Kris yet and I still felt so horrible. What would it have been like if we'd been more? Or, God, if I'd lost my virginity to that girl and then she…

Deciding I didn't like where that train of thought was going, I pushed it from my mind. From now on, I'd just keep a little bubble wrap wrapped around my heart.

It's amazing, isn't it, how much you can hurt when there's nothing physically wrong. It scared me. I hadn't realized how...hopeful I was. How badly I had wanted this to go right.

I popped two Vicodin to calm my raging emotions and waited for a minute until the dull calm washed over me. Pulling on a neutral face, I went back out into the kitchen.

Just as I expected Dean jumped on me the moment I came into his sights.

"Look, Sammy,"

"No, Dean, I'm just grabbing a soda and then I'm gonna do some homework. I don't really wannna hear what bull you have to tell me because there are simply no excuses." The entire time I kept a fake cheerfulness in my voice as poured myself a soda. Perhaps it was partly because the pills were blocking out excess emotion or maybe I was just trying to mess with Dean.

"So you're not even gonna give me a chance to explain?" he scoffed. Oh the irony. How many times had I spewed that very same sentence at Dad during a fight? _The very same sentence! _But I wasn't Dad (_will not grow up to be that!) _and Dean was right, it was unfair. No matter how unfair it was to _me_ to give him the chance to explain when I _never _got that opportunity, especially when he was clearly in the wrong, it was still the right thing to do.

"Alright, Dean, explain. But please don't tell me you tripped or she fell and you caught her and it was an accident. None of that BS okay?"

Dean nodded eagerly (_when did we do this role reversal again?_) and gestured to the table.

"No, tell me now." I didn't want any beating around the bush. No softening me up by sitting down and making me feel like at least we were having a _feelings_ conversation. He wasn't getting out of this. I wanted to know what happened and why. I think I damn well deserved that much.

"Well she came to the door and you weren't back yet," I glared to let him know I didn't need the reminder of my role in the whole fiasco, "no, I'm not saying it's your fault, I'm just explaining why things happened. Anyway, I didn't want to just leave her sitting on the couch by herself so I sat down and asked her how she and you met." I snorted. Yeah, he probably asked her how something as fine as her came across a geek like me. "And let me tell you, bro, I think you made a mistake in letting her walk out because that girl had nothing but good things to say about you. Said you stood up for her and were actually going to get into a fight to protect her honor. Is that true, Sam? Because I know you and I know you don't enjoy fighting." I nodded, still unsure what I was feeling at this point.

"Go on."

"Right, well, after that she asked me a bit about you and I told her that you were smart," (_didn't make me sound like a nerd did you, Dean? You wouldn't do that, right? Not to get with my girl, right?) _"and that you were a good listener who cared about other people. I said you were really loyal…and what?" It took him longer than I expected to notice the disbelief on my face.

"One, you and Dad do nothing but complain that I'm not dedicated enough to this family."

"That's not-"

"And two, I was only gone for seven minutes, Dean! S_even frickin' minutes_! How did you two have time to swap life stories and still make out?"

"I'm not lying!"

"Not saying you were." Okay, maybe I was. But it sounded suspicious. They looked like they'd been making out for hours, not seconds! Perhaps part of me just wanted to be reassured that they had in fact said all those good things about me.

Dean gave me a look that said he clearly thought I had been calling him a liar. Fine, he wants to think that, he can think that.

"Hear me out okay? You owe me that much." I almost blurted out that I didn't owe him a damn thing, but I knew that wasn't true. I owed him my respect, my concern, my childhood, my talents, and my _life._ Upset or not, one kiss was not enough to erase everything. With this startling realization, I allowed the waters of calmness to come back in and override all my prickly sea urchins. I wasn't prosecuting him here (_a judge, that would be a cool job)_ He was my brother and he was offering an explanation for why he did what he did.

"You're right, I owe you that much. Go on." He nodded, understanding the statement for what it was. It was not forgiveness and it was not acceptance. It was _willingness. _To hear him out; to think things through with rational logic; and to decide, with true fairness, how I was going to handle the situation.

Oh yeah, I'd make a damn good lawyer.

"So then we reached this awkward silence – oh and you should know she got here almost five minutes early," So that was 12. 12 minutes I was supposed to be here. 12 minutes that was enough for the attention to slide from me and my girl (_my girl?)_ to the possibility of my brother and her. Whoever said ten minutes wouldn't make a difference was a liar and a damn fool. "So I asked her about herself and she started talking about her birthday last weekend," (_I didn't know that! Why did I not know that?) _"and she mentioned this perfume her dad got her. And long story short, I leaned up to smell it and then we just…kissed."

"Just kissed," I repeated. He said it so nonchalantly. Oh, it was just a kiss. It wasn't the very thing I'd been dreaming about all day. It wasn't the very thing I'd been preparing myself for. It wasn't like it was the only thing in my life that might go right. "Just made out you mean."

"No, Sam, it wasn't like that. It was just a kiss. It wasn't a magical moment, there weren't sparks or rose petals and Kelly Clarkson didn't suddenly come on singing 'A Moment Like This'. We just kissed."

"You were making out when I came in. You were holding her leg, for fuck's sake!" He looked startled by my language but didn't comment. Smart guy.

"I didn't mean to grab her leg. When I leaned over to smell her perfume I leaned on her thigh because there wasn't any other space and I didn't want to fall on the girl. But you still shocked me when you came in and I tensed up. Hunter instincts and all that."

I didn't know if I believed yet. Did it make sense, yes. Did it make too much sense? Yes as well. Did it seem more likely that Dean and Kris spontaneously starting making out in a passionate display of teenage hormones? _Ding, ding, ding! Three right in a row, Sir, you may pick out a prize! May I have that lovely lady over there? No, I'm sorry, you're brother already claimed that one._

What prize am I left with?

I didn't sleep well that night. I lay awake forever it seemed, trying to decide who deserved forgiveness and how much. Did I refuse to talk to Kris ever again? Did I stick to a let's just be friends basis? Did I forgive and forget and try to be something _more_ once again? And Dean? Did I act cold to him for a few days? Did I bury it and pretend it never happened?

I just didn't know.

An earthquake had come through and messed up all my buildings. Should I rebuild my skyscraper and risk it falling again or just keep it as a little building?

Honestly, I wanted my skyscraper back. I wanted to try and rebuild something between me and Kris, but I couldn't get the image of her and Dean on the couch, twisted around each other like two flowers born of one seed. I wanted to feel her lips and the tickle of her hair. But I didn't want the knife in my heart.

Or in my back for that matter.

Was is even worth it? To try and rebuild (or restart, really we'd never started anything concrete) something when there would be no more trust? Every unanswered phone call would have me wondering if she was off fucking someone else and she'd tire of my constant pestering. I'd become a Billie.

Knowing the perfect solution to nightmares and sleepless nights, I made my way to the bathroom. Technically I was only supposed to have one to two Vicodin every four to six hours and it'd only been three hours since my last dosage. But hey, it was past midnight so a new day, right? Starts over again? Maybe not but I wasn't near any dangerous levels and I'd just take a little less tomorrow, my knee didn't hurt very much anymore, only stairs and walking too long stirred up drug-suppressed pain. Besides, a good night's sleep was important to your health.

With that thought in mind, I popped two more Vicodin and added a third for good measure.

**TBC...**

**Didn't see that coming did you? :D But seriously, thanks to all you awesome readers out there! Please REVIEW and let me know your thoughts!  
>PS I'm very sorry anonymous reviews have been disabled, but I felt it was necessary.<strong>


	8. Tales of Another Broken Home

**Well here we are at half way. The next chapter (the one after this, not this one) is where everything starts to go to hell. :) I've accepted my sadism against Sam. **

**Thanks so much for the reviews, please keep it up!**

**Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Length: 2,600<br>****Chapter: 8/16  
>Next Post: Weekend<br>****Beta: Little Miss Artist (Thanks buddy!)  
>WARNINGS: Drug abuse (see chap 1 for note) and swearing<strong>

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 7<strong>  
>Tales of Another Broken Home<p>

_"Running away from pain  
>when you've been victimized<br>Tales of another broken home"_

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><p>Sometimes I think teachers are different species. Most teachers in this school didn't give a damn. Except for the history department for some reason. I enjoy history, that much is true, but Mr. Pine looked about ready to piss himself out of excitement as he explained about the gold rush.<p>

Meanwhile I doodled a copy of the picture on the front of my textbook into the margin of my notebook. Out of nowhere a piece of folded notebook paper fell over my shoulder. I jumped and turned around to face the boy behind me. He was a bored looking boy who may have been held back a year. At my curious glance, he jerked his head to the desk on his left.

Kris wasn't even pretending to be occupied. She was staring me right in the face, eyes pinned right on mine. She looked nervously shy. A strange emotion flooded me when I realized how disheveled she looked. Lines under her eyes, hair unwashed and hanging limply – not at all styled – even her outfit was a little messy looking. Her nice frame was hidden in the bulk of a school sweatshirt – GO LIONS! It proclaimed in bright yellow letters with a green paw print underneath – and simple blue jeans.

There was some satisfaction in knowing she'd had just as rough a night as I did. Serves her right, I thought smugly. There was also a little part of me that felt bad. Maybe it really wasn't a big deal, just a little accident. Maybe everything would be okay.

Yeah and maybe Dean would shit rainbows.

A tiny, hopeful smile quirked on her lips. _Hi. I'm sorry. _I raised my eyebrows slightly and let a bit of a scowl show on my face. _Yeah, whatever. _Her smile slipped off and for the tiniest moment, my heart leapt into my throat choking me. What was I doing? She wanted me? _Me? _And I was refusing?

The image of her and Dean flashed before my eyes. Except in my mind's eye, they were making out with an intensity that terrified me. Their bodies twisted around each other, fitting together like puzzle pieces. Her eyes flicked over to me and turned hard. _Not you. Never you._

I jolted back to reality where Kris was looking at me with wide eyes, both concerned and scared. I turned back to my desk and stared at the ordinary lined paper there.

_S,  
>I'm really sorry about yesterday.<br>Can we talk?  
>~K<em>

At first I almost crumpled the paper in my hand without second thought. No, _bitch,_ we may not talk. You fucking kissed my brother! But instead I picked up my pencil and pressed the lead to the paper, trying not to start stabbing the table in frustration.

_Yes._

Wow. I'm a total loser. Desperate enough to date a cheater. I didn't give myself time to think, because I knew I'd change my mind, and just handed the note to the guy behind me. He rolled his eyes but passed it over to her anyway.

Her eyes lit up and I knew I'd done the right thing. But as the rest of the class went, I started to doubt my impromptu decision.

"Sam," she called, almost breathlessly, as she came up behind me. This was it. The beginning or the end.

"Kris." I turned to face her where she looked shyly eager.

She took a deep breath and I got the feeling she'd rehearsed this many times in her head. "I know I can't ask you to just forget what happened-"

"You're right, I can't forget," I said, trying not to betray any emotion. I'd hear her out, that was all I promised. I couldn't guarantee anything.

She gave me a helpless look and it struck me how young she was. How young both of us were.

"But _we_, like us as a couple, never really got a chance."

"Yeah, because the first chance you got, you started making out with my brother."

"No," she pleaded, sounding a lot like Dean, "It wasn't like that. We didn't just throw ourselves at each other!"

"Oh, so it was more than that?" I knew that wasn't what she meant, but I couldn't help but blurt out some of my frustration.

"No! Sam, you know that's not what I meant!" She was getting louder now, borderline hysterical. The teacher and the few remaining students looked over at us.

"Maybe we should go somewhere more private," I offered hesitantly.

"No, I don't want to go somewhere more private!" Now she was full on shouting and I could see Mr. Pine stalking over with an annoyed look on his face.

"Shh!" I hissed.

"Sam," she said quietly, sounding exhausted, with wet eyes. "Just answer me this. Are going to give me a chance or not because I don't want to waste my time trying to plead my case if you'll never give me a chance."

My cellphone rang and a quick check revealed it to be Dean, probably wondering why I wasn't out at the car yet.

"Look, Kris, I gotta go, my brother's waiting for me," I said softly. Just as I was passing her, her hand shot out, just like it had when she apologized for Billie's behavior and just like she had when she left our apartment last night.

"Sam Winchester, I don't ever want to talk to you again." With that and a final glare she turned and stalked out of the room. Mr. Pine gave me a warning glance and I nodded in return.

"What the hell took so long?" Dean demanded when I got out to the car. I sighed, choosing to stay silent, and sat down in the passenger seat. "Oh, that girl, huh?" Dean asked.

Instead of replying I just rolled my head around to face the window and stared out at the passing town.

"Sam…"

"Don't. Just drop me off at the house and get back to work." Normally Dean wouldn't have taken very kindly to such a comment, but he let it slide.

When we pulled up outside the building, I gave Dean a good glare to make sure he was aware I didn't want to have a conversation. He pulled away as I reached the entrance, and I felt a strange wistful feeling. A new problem occurred to me in my contemplations.

How was it fair to block Kris from my life and not Dean? I can't never talk to Dean again and I couldn't avoid him, it simply wasn't an option. But I would do it to Kris just because it was an option? If you got right down to it, and removed the fact that Dean was my brother, they were both guilty of the same crime. If anything, being my brother should have made it worse. But I'd decided to ignore Dean for…a week at most, and decided to never speak to Kris ever again?

No, that wasn't entirely true. _I_ wasn't the one who said I never wanted to talk to her again. She was the one who said she didn't want to talk to me again. Was that my fault? Probably. If I'd gotten off my defensive horse for just a minute I probably would have been able to accept her apology. And _letting _her walk out on me probably wasn't a good idea…

The apartment was empty (_expect different?)_ and it seemed…ominous in the darkness. A bit of light filtered in around the blinds, but mostly it was dark. Assuming they somehow got past our triple locked door, it would be far too easy for someone to simply hide.

_Far_ too easy.

Even though I assured myself how ridiculous I was being (even announced it to the empty room), I still fingered the switchblade in my back pocket. Holding the blade out in front of me, I reached for the light.

There was a horror movie I saw once. The wallpaper turned to dead human skin under his hands…

As the room was illuminated in light, I screamed and jumped back, slamming into the door.

The room was empty. I guess on a subconscious level I really expected someone to be there.

"I'm a moron," I said simply. Just in case the empty room was wondering.

Once I'd cocooned myself on the couch – drink and pretzels at the ready and surrounded by everything necessary for History homework – I set to work.

Being my luck, I was about half way (having reached the stage where you're past the oh-no-this-is-so-much phase and to the I-can-do-this phase) when my phone rang. I looked up from my text book glossary and glared at the small device across the room. Had I given Kris my phone number? I thought she didn't want to talk to me?

Dean. It was probably Dean. Here I was going all arrogant thinking she'd come crawling back…

I snagged the device and flipped it open without looking at the caller ID.

"Hey, Dean,"

"Uh, hi, Sam." Feminine. Not Dean, not Dean at all. I thought she didn't want to talk to me? I shut the phone in shock then opened it back up and pressed it to my ear.

"Kris?" Then I realized a phone is not a door. You can't just open in again after you slam it shut. I stared down at the blank screen. Should I call back? Would she? What if we both called and both got busy signals?

I dialed.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey, Kris." The phone line clicked dead and I jerked back in surprise. She called me first.

"She called me first!" I shouted to the room.

_Annoying isn't it?_ Lit up on my screen. A text. How informal. I typed in 'sorry' then erased it and typed in 'I think I was justified' then erased that too. I didn't want to seem impolite.

"Sam, you here?" I looked up, somewhat expected to find the room had begun to talk back, only to see Dad slamming the door behind him.

"Uh, yeah, I'm here." I tossed the phone aside and let it land on the couch cushions.

Romance was too difficult anyway.

"Then get packing, we're hitting the road tomorrow."

"What?" I asked, too shocked to figure out the million emotions raging through me.

"Yes, just found out our witch will be in tomorrow morning so I figure if we get packed now we can leave immediately after."

"But…but…"

"Quit stammering, Sam, and get going!" I nodded dumbly and rose to my feet. Once I stumbled into my room, I dropped onto the bed and sat there in dull shock.

Leaving. We were leaving.

I was both relieved, and frustrated. Any chance I had with Kris was gone. It was nice to have the decision taken out of my hands, but frustrating because now the option to start over and maybe start something nice with her was gone. Relieved and frustrated. I started forcibly packing then I heard Dad holler from the living room.

"Your cell's ringing."

Emotions tugged at my muscles as I stormed into the room. I was frustrated because I couldn't decide whether to be relieved or upset at leaving and I was annoyed at Dad for uprooting us on such short notice and lastly I was pissed at Kris for starting this whole damn thing.

"What?" I practically screamed into the phone. Dad looked up in surprise and gave me a shocked look.

"Sam?" Kris asked, sounding scared. (_Back away slowly, angry Winchester on the loose.)_

"What? What could you possibly need? You said you never wanted to talk again. _You _said that, not me, _you!_" I was yelling now, my emotions roaring up inside of me and pulling me in all different directions.

"Sam…where…where is this coming from?"

"I don't fucking know!" I shouted, sounding confused and surprised while still yelling.

"Samuel Winchester!" Dad scolded. I didn't see why. It's not like he and Dean are any better about their language. I'm sixteen for crying out loud.

"I'm so confused," and on the brink of tears by the sounds of it.

"Look, Kris, don't be. There's no reason to be confused because it simply ends tomorrow."

She swallowed thickly and it occurred to me how weird that sounded. Great now she thinks I'm either a potential murderer or a potential suicide. What is it about love that stirs up such deep emotion? What pushed the devastated girlfriend off the building and what pulls the trigger in the hand of a man stumbling across his wife and her lover?

Hell if I know.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked carefully, like she was either talking down the suicide or the murderer.

"I…no, not like that. I'm moving. Tomorrow actually."

"T-tomorrow? You're moving _tomorrow?_ Sam, people don't just get up and move on a whim's notice!"

Hunters do. But how do you explain that?

"Look, Kris, it's complicated, okay? But trust me when I say, we're leaving tomorrow."

"Were you planning this the whole time?" She was betrayed and accusatory. "Did you know you were leaving? You were just gonna use me for some fun sex then skip town?"

"I-what? No! Kris, it's not like that."

_It's not like that._

The exact words Kris had told me when I caught them and the exact words Dean told me two hours later when he offered his explanation. It's not like that. Doesn't that almost seem like a guilty conscience? Clearly you think they're thinking something bad and if you think of that first then clearly-

I was giving myself one hell of a headache.

_It's not like that._ I hadn't believed them, practically mocked them, yet I repeated it too.

"Sam," she sighed deeply, "I'm confused, I'll admit." She paused, like she was trying to sort through her mess of thoughts. "But if you're leaving tomorrow, as you say you are, then there's nothing really to be confused about, I suppose. It just puts an answer to the problem in a way that's out of our control."

"So that's it then? The end?"

"The end," she repeated sadly. "Good bye, Sam."

"Good bye, Kris."

"For what it's worth, I think you're a really great person, Sam, and I wish you the best in life."

"You too."

The phone line clicked and I stared down at the small object. As I learned earlier, a phone is not a door. She wouldn't just open it back up again and throw herself into my arms. This wasn't some bad romantic comedy.

Dad was staring at me with an odd look on his face, but I just shrugged. I didn't need to explain myself. He wouldn't listen anyway.

I went into the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. Fine tremors were creeping up my arms. Without much conscious thought, I popped three Vicodin. Three was the magic number, I'd learned. Two wasn't enough and four, I imagined, would be at the point of making you high. I didn't want the high, only druggies wanted the high. I just wanted the calm. Three brought calm and made emotions run away and hide.

Three was perfect.

As any author, or person really, will tell you, the end of one story is always the start of another. It may not always be as exciting as the last, but there is always another tale to be told.

As we'd both agreed, this, right now, was The End. The End of Kris and Sam and The End of Sam and Drearston High with its bored teachers and it's frightening students. The End of the Winchesters in this town.

But it was also The Beginning of something else.

**TBC...**


	9. One Of My Lies

**Sorry for the delay, I've been sick.**

**This chapter has a really strange end, so...um...yeah, I'm aware of it's oddness. I was having fun, okay? It was like two in the morning when I wrote this. **

**VERY IMPORTANT NOTE (That's not actually about the story...) **This summer is the _2nd Annual Author's Note Fandom Convention. _AN-Con is a place where all SPN and NCIS fanfiction authors/readers can meet, ask questions, and have an awesome time! Seriously, I went last year and had a blast! There's a panel, food, t-shirts (and other stuff for sale if I'm not mistaken) some role-playing, and of course FF awards! It's held in VA in July. For details, check out the website: http:/ www . authorsnote . org (remove the spaces) where you can also pay your cover charge and nominate stories for the Author's Note Awards!

**Thank you guys so much for your reivews, they mean so much!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Length: 3,200<br>****Chapter: 9/17  
>Next Post: Weekend<br>****Beta: Little Miss Artist (Thanks buddy!)  
>WARNINGS: Drug abuse (see chap 1 for note) and swearing<strong>

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 8<br>**One of My Lies

_"Do you think you're indestructible  
>And no one can touch you<br>Well I think you're disposable"_

* * *

><p>"Are you feeling alright, Sam?" My eyes lazily wandered up to meet Dean's peering over the passenger seat.<p>

"Yeah," I said dully. I wasn't feeling much of anything at the moment. Vicodin can do that to you. I'd taken more that morning and at lunch. I was up to almost twelve a day, but I wasn't worried. Twelve wasn't that many. And I wasn't dependent or anything, I just needed something to make me feel a little better. No different than Dad or Dean swigging down alcohol whenever something happened they didn't like.

Besides, if I didn't take them who knew what would happen. Maybe I wasn't feeling much at that moment, but that doesn't mean I didn't know what I _would be_ feeling. Without some pills that morning, I most certainly would have blown a gasket. I'd be overrun with my usual annoyance at having moved and now it'd be two fold because of Kris. I'd scream at Dean and probably call Kris just to scream in the phone for a good five minutes. Then I'd scream at Dean some more for this morning during the hunt. Like I couldn't tell he was sticking extra close to me, refusing to let me even go into the next room alone…I may be recovering (_mostly recovered) _from a knee injury and maybe my emotions were higher than normal – well as far as Dean thought anyway – but that didn't make me an incapable hunter. I was just as able as them to push aside feelings and focus on the task at hand.

But I wasn't feeling any of that. Because I was still floating in NumbLand where you felt calm and perhaps, ever slightly out of it. It was like I was reading what was happening in a book, but not really there. Visualizing it in my head without complete submersion.

Like my lines were already scripted.

And they were, really, even in a more literal sense than my drug induced emotional detachment. What would happen in my life? I'll tell you. I'll keep moving around with my family and I'll keep hunting and I'll keep living in shit holes. Until I get to be maybe 18 or so, then maybe Dean and I will go off by ourselves. Perhaps someday even we'd separate, but I find that hard to imagine. By then we'd both be more than capable of handling our own – hell, Dean already could and I was well on my way – but I'm not sure we could handle it mentally. The only way to guarantee someone is safe is to _be _there. So Dean and I would hunt and check up with Dad regularly, maybe do the occasional gig together, until one of us, if things went in natural order Dad would be first, died. Then the other two would struggle on until one by one we were picked off. Hopefully dying heroically trying to save people during a hunt, but potentially by some illness, we don't exactly live in the most sanitary conditions, or even in some everyday tragedy, a mugging gone wrong, a car accident…the list went on and on. Definitely not old age.

The point was, the book was already written and I didn't like the ending. I wanted badly to go to school, to make something of myself, and to get some normal. Dad and Dean, well they already had their normal. But I didn't. And I wanted it, badly. But could I swing going to school? They wouldn't let me, at least not without some type of fight. Maybe I could convince them to agree to some sort of hunting on the side deal…but then again if there was some sort of fight, Dad would probably whip out the all or nothing guns, expecting me to succumb and agree to stay. I probably would to. Or, who knows, maybe I'd surprise myself.

"Sam!"

"What?" I said dumbly, looking away from the window once more.

"Dad asked if you wanted to stop for dinner here or in the next town."

"Oh, uh…I don't care. Wherever." Dean rolled his eyes and turned back to face the front.

"What'd he say? I didn't hear," Dad said, glancing over at Dean.

"He said 'whatever'." Dean had pulled out his Eighth-Grade-Girl-voice for my line.

"I don't talk like that!"

"Sam!" I don't know whether Dad was annoyed at our bickering, or would be bickering, or my indecisiveness. Either way, I was wholly unaffected.

"Yes?" I asked slowly, drawing out the syllable the way a game show host draws out the word won in '_you've won…a new car!'_

"Pick one and quit arguing!"

"Oh, so I didn't win a new car?" Why did I just say that?

"What?" he shouted, sounding annoyed and just a bit perplexed. "Sam," he warned slowly, the _stop it!_ going unsaid. Oh, so I'd poked the bear enough to get growled at.

"Dad," I mimicked back in the same warning voice. From my seat, I could see Dad's knuckles going white on the steering wheel and his eyes widening to an almost comical degree. Dean was goggling at me over the seat.

"That is it, Samuel! You…you…"

"What's the verdict?" I asked. Holy shit…I'd only taken three pills right? Yes, I knew. How long did drugs stay in your system anyway, even once they stopped having an immediate effect on you? Could repeatedly taking them somehow lead to a buildup? Or was I just having a weird reaction? Did I need to shut up before Dad chucked me out of the car? Did I need to stop asking questions of myself and figure out what Dad was saying?

"…grounded! No extracurricular activities at the next school we stop at." So that was implying the next _stop_ might not be the next _school._ Damn, I hated hunts where I didn't even get the normal reprieve of school…I could see the logic, yes, why bother enrolling and all the paperwork only to un-enroll a week later?

When we pulled into the diner ten minutes later, Dad stalked ahead of us while Dean waited for me to get my uncooperative fingers to unbuckle the seatbelt.

"Geesh, Sam," he said as I finally got it and nearly tumbled out onto the asphalt. "Have a death wish or something?"

"Oh, shut up," I grumbled, stalking ahead of him in a near perfect replication of Dad. Once we were seated in the diner, Athena* was the name, and our orders taken and delivered, we sat in relatively silence. One that I was loathe to break.

"Oh my God," Dean moaned as he bit into the burger, the bun crunching lightly under his teeth. "This is amazing…it's like an orgasm on a bun!"

"Dean, that's gross," I snapped, turning back to my own salad.

"Just because you can't appreciate a good bacon burger doesn't mean I can't."

"Whatever," I said moodily. Dean suddenly put down his burger hard enough to jolt the plate.

"What is it with you lately? You're like a PMS girl with crazy mood swings!"

"I am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are not."

"Am too…goddamnit!" I snarled when I realized how I'd been tricked into agreeing with him. Curse my natural reaction to immediately contradict anything said in an argument.

"Boys! Enough!" Dad shouted loud enough for a couple nearby diner-goers to glance our way.

"I'm done anyway," I snapped, dropping my fork. "Can I go wait in the car?" Normally Dad would say no, I needed to wait for the rest of the family, but apparently the venom with which I said the words and the way I'd been going at it with Dean were enough to change his mind.

"Uh, yeah, sure, go ahead." My head tingled lightly as I stood – been happening more often than usual lately – but I put it down to rapid change in height.

That evening found me surfing the laptop in our empty motel from while my father and brother surfed the local bar scene. I gently looked down over the list of Vicodin side effects.

Most people apparently had little or no side effects while some had severe allergic reactions. But sure enough, number eight on the ten most common side effects was extreme mood changes. And would you look at that! Number 7 was lightheadedness. And 6 was fatigue. Had I been feeling more tired than usual? I hadn't really noticed.

It also said the typical dosage was one or two tablets every four to six hours. Well that wasn't so bad then! I was taking three roughly four times a day…I was fine! I had a knee injury after all and it could be expected for me to take pain pills afterwards.

Here I was worried about nothing!

I was even more excited to read that liver damage was usually minimal enough, if the usage wasn't too prolonged, for enzyme levels to become more normal shortly after stopping the drug, meaning usually no long term damage. So once I stopped I wouldn't have done any permanent damage. And I would stop, in a couple weeks or so. Once the emotion of Kris and things got back to normal, I would stop.

After all, a torn ligament can take anywhere from two weeks to two months to heal.

I stared down at the three long white pills in my hand. 5 mg of hydrocodone and 500 acetaminophen.

How many times had I taken pain killers in my life? At hospitals and in make-shift-hospital motel rooms? How many times had I known the strange euphoric feel of drugs? Of morphine or some other hospital grade opiate? Perhaps that's why we tolerated drugs so much better than most people, after all some people got real loopy real quick with only one pain killer. By the time the average Joe reached 18, he'd probably had pain killers to that degree, what? Once? Twice? A broken arm there and a bike accident here? Maybe a slip down the stairs or a first-time-driver car crash. For us it was more like once or twice a month, even more if you counted the more normal stuff like Advil and all that for smaller injuries. Suffice to say, we had a better tolerance for handling drugs than most people.

"Hey, Sammy-boy!" Dean sing-songed as he entered. Dad entered behind him and headed right for the bathroom, slamming the door and turning on the shower minutes later.

Dean's step faltered when he spotted the pill bottle in my hand. "Your knee still hurt?" he asked, approaching more.

"Yeah, a bit," I said. It had been about three and a half weeks since I did my knee it in the first place and as the doctor, whose name had long ago left me, had said, my knee really didn't hurt that much anymore. From the look of worried concern with a hint of suspicion on his face, Dean had also realized this.

"Holy shit, Sam!" he cried when he spotted three pills in my hand. "Are you trying to kill a horse or something?" Yeah, I suppose three Vicodin for "a bit" of pain did seem like overkill.

"No…I'm not taking all of this," I gave a small laugh to show just how ridiculous such a notion was, "a few extras fell out of the bottle and you came before I got a chance to put them back." More like came before I got a chance to down them.

"Oh. Your knee really is still hurting?" I was torn. If I said it was just a little pain, he'd wonder why I was taking something that strong, but if I said it was hurting enough to warrant a Vicodin, he'd worry and probably take me to the nearest clinic.

"Well…um, when I was leaving the dinner, I stepped off the curb – you know how fast I was going," I added since I knew Dean was aware how annoyed I was and would take that as probable reason for me not telling him earlier about the pain. "And I slipped in a puddle, not much but just enough to twinge it. It doesn't really hurt _bad_, but it's really annoying and I didn't want it to keep me awake tonight." If Dean was at all curious why I was taking pills at eight pm for a good night's rest, which probably wouldn't start until at least ten, he didn't question.

"Oh, well, alright, but promise to let me know if it gets worse." I nodded and he dropped onto the opposite bed, snoring almost immediately.

Of course. Drunk. He was drunk, that was why he cared so much.

I was surprised at myself. What was I talking about? Of course Dean cared about me! A blind man could see that.

How dare I doubt my brother? That was horrible and traitorous! I was an awful brother!

Dad suddenly stumbled out of the bathroom and dropped onto the open bed, snoring almost immediately as well.

Couch it was then. I'd slept in the same bed with a Dean coming off of a drunken night enough times to know it was dangerous. Alcohol and sleep combined to make a Dean who would punch you if you so much as bumped into him. Probably thought you were a burly bar goer asking for it in his dream-version bar. Either that or you were the boyfriend of the girl he was doing.

But either way, it wasn't a pleasant experience and I couldn't exactly watch myself while I slept to assure I didn't bump into him.

I went into the bathroom, changed into my pjs and took out the Vicodin. I hadn't taken any that evening yet. Between Dean and Dad I'd had too many interruptions. I took out three and stared at them.

_Are you trying to kill a horse or something? _Dean had been shocked. I had justified it, but was I lying to myself? Twisting facts to fit the situation instead of fitting the situation to the facts? If he'd been surprised then, how surprised would he be to know just how many I was taking a day?

Maybe I was an addict or maybe I wasn't, but I realized now that was where I was headed. They deserved better. Dad deserved another son more like Dean, and Dean – God, Dean who had given up _everything_ for me – and how do I repay him? He deserved more too. He deserved _so much more._ More than me and more than this life. He deserved two parents who loved him, a perfect house with a perfect life. He deserved college and a steady girlfriend.

But I had stopped that all. Because I had practically killed my own mother. I was a disgrace and a failure. I'd destroyed my family and doomed the two who remained to a miserable life.

Such a misery gripped at my soul, I had to do something, lest I completely lose it and get myself a one way ticket into the nearest sanitarium. My fingers scratched over my arms for no other reason than I _needed to do something. _I was restless and there were ants not just in my pants, but under my skin, all of my skin.

I snagged the three pills then added a fourth.

I didn't need numb, I needed _gone. _

Downing all four, two at a time, I stood there for a minute. I wasn't sure what I expected. Everything didn't suddenly take on rainbow hues and I didn't start floating. The soap didn't smile at me and I didn't feel the need to burst into song.

Then suddenly I felt _better._ Now that I thought about it, my life really wasn't that bad. I had a family that cared about me, I was smart, we had enough money for a food and a roof, and I still had my whole life ahead of me.

Screw the script, I write my own book! It was simple, I'll go to college. Dad doesn't agree, well screw him! I can make my own life. I got good grades, I could probably get at least a pretty big scholarship even if it wasn't full. Then I'd go to college, get a job – maybe a lawyer, that'd always been in the back of my mind – get myself a nice wife and we'd have kids and a house and a dog and a fence! A literal, white picket fence! And on the fence I'd stick a sign that says "Sam Winchester got his goddamn white picket fence!" It'd be perfect. I could do this, I was capable of doing it.

And I was really, really thirsty.

It was like all the spit had been sucked out of my mouth. Dear God was I thirsty! I filled one of the plastic cups next to the sink almost to the point of over flowing and downed it all. I refilled it, then with one more gulp I downed it again. My mouth still felt dry and kind of sticky.

I giggled a bit. That was kind of funny. Cotton mouth. Like the snake. Ha! Wonder if I was poisonous too. I suddenly imagined Dean as a snake, except even in serpent form he still had his hair. That was how Dean would want it.

Despite my strange thoughts and cotton mouth moment (_ha! Snakes with hair!) _I still felt great. At peace, and content. It was like stepping outside near a lake and breathing in the fresh, warm air on a sunny day and knowing this was going to be the _perfect_ day.

I had never been fishing. Maybe I'd ask if we could go tomorrow. Was there a lake nearby? What state were we even in? We ate at Athena dinner…were we in Greece? Did we drive to Greece? _Could _you drive to Greece? They should make a car that can drive across water. Holy cow (_cow with halo – ha!) _did I feel good! Is this what sex is like? I should ask Dean if sex is like getting high. Would he know the answer? That would probably sound like a dumb question. I hate dumb questions. Like when people in class raise their hand and ask something that the teacher just said. Morons. Ha! Morons. What a funny word! Moron!

"You're a moron!" I told the sink. Then giggled. "Moron!" I shouted. Sticking my head out the bathroom door I saw Dean snort and roll over. Wonder if he was dreaming of morons. Or maybe cows with halos. Or maybe snakes with hair.

Wait, what?

**TBC...**

Like I said, kinda strange. It's mostly his thoughts so I probably should have stuck some _italics _in there...oh well!

*Athena is a real dinner in a town where I live and it's one of my absolute favorites. They're egg sandwiches make me feel how a good bacon burger makes Dean feel!

**Please review! And if you didn't yet, go read the VERY IMPORTANT NOTE at the top :)**


	10. Strangeland

**CHAPTER 9  
><strong>Strangeland

_"I start to run, now I'm scared  
>Strange beings all around<br>Come everyone to this place I've found"_

I dropped the chocolate bar, bottle of Tylenol, and the Fresca on the counter of gas station. The bubblegum chewing girl put down her magazine to check me out. She had straight brown hair pulled back into a pig tail and well manicured pink nails.

She checked out the chocolate and Tylenol then eyed the Fresca before glancing up at me with a smirk. "You're not from around here are you?"

"My brother doesn't like Fresca either," I said with a smirk that would make Dean proud. Her hazel eyes traveled up and down me like I was a horse up for purchase. I knew I wasn't in good shape, hell I was probably in the worst shape of my life if my pale, muscle-less form was anything to go by.

"Your total comes to $5.50," her lips lined with cheap red lipstick said. Just as I reached back to pull the money out of my back pocket, the door flew open and slammed into the newspaper rack. A tall, burly man wearing a black ski mask and holding a black 40 Smith and Wesson hand gun out in front of him stood in the doorway. _Probably a druggie,_ I thought.

_Like you,_ my mind added.

The teenager shrieked and dropped the soda onto the floor. Her hands flew up in the air in surrender as her eyes went wide.

"Back away from the counter, back away from the counter!" I raised his hands as well and stepped away from the counter, backing partway into the chip aisle. "Give me the money!" he shouted as he waved the gun around causing the girl to cry out.

"P-please, Sir, I-" He smacked her hard across the face with his open palm then pulled her forward by her collar. He growled something to her that I couldn't hear, but based on the tears sliding down her red cheeks and the never ending stammering spilling from her mouth, it was less than friendly.

"You understand me?" he demanded as he shoved her back. She nodded pitifully. There was a loud crack followed by a cry as he smacked her again. "I said do you understand me?"

"Yes, yes!" She mewled as she turned to register. Just as the register dinged open, sirens sounded nearby as police cars pulled up outside. "Fucking…who called the fuckin' cops?" he demanded. As far as I knew, the only people in the store were him and the cashier and neither of them had called the cops. I was proven wrong when the man yelled, "You! You in the back, get your ass up here!" A skanky looking girl (_Dean's type of girl!)_ came forward while holding a cell phone in her shaking hand. She brushed past me and stood in front of the man, her arms held high. "Why'd you do that? Why would you do that, you fucking bitch!" He grabbed her forearms and shook her as he yelled it.

"Hey…hey! Leave her alone," I said, taking a step forward. My heart fluttered wildly in my chest.

"And who the hell are you?" he asked, the gun hanging in a lose grip pointed vaguely between me and the cell phone girl.

"Nobody," I said, thinking of _The Odyssey. _Even though I knew Dean would never read such a long book – I'm not even sure he's ever read a whole book all the way through – some of Odysseus's whit sure seemed to match his style.

"That so?" He swung the gun around to point at the shaking cashier. She whimpered and stepped back, bumping into the wall. _No!_ I panicked. She was a victim, an innocent - innocent people come first, any hunter will tell you that. _Analyze the situation, weigh the options, decide on a course of action, _Dad's voice echoed about in my head. Sadly, dealing with an armed gun man was not part of my previous training.

"Leave her alone," I said again, this time about a different girl. The gun came back around to point at me (_shiny)._

"What the fuck is your problem?" he demanded disbelievingly, like I was the raving lunatic in the room.

"Come out with your hands held up!" Someone – presumably a policeman – shouted from outside.

I knew the second I saw him jerk back what was going to happen. My muscles tensed in preparation and my eyes squeezed shut.

_I'm going to die. _The thought flitted through my head, filling the tiny silence in between the sharp scream of the bullet leaving the barrel and the noise as it ripped into my flesh. Hunters face death a lot, sure, but that definitely doesn't make it any easier to do.

It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I expected a chest shoot. I expected a burst of pain followed by a warm agony spreading through me. I expected gushing blood and weakness of knees.

What I got was a sting in my bicep, a throbbing ache, and a small line of blood trickling down my arm. A graze, barely a graze, maybe not even a graze…a light brushing. I stared at the line of warm crimson dripping from the inch long gash in my arm. Blood…it was so…important. It could make a life or take a life, restore or remove. There was so much power in each drop… It looked kind of…pretty almost. There was something elegant in blood.

I jerked out of my sick sense of unattached curiousity as police barged in. I looked at the bottle of Tylenol laying on the floor next to me where it had fallen when Mr. Trigger-Happy over there came in. I wanted one badly…would anyone notice if I reached over and grabbed some? I'd taken two Vicodin not that long ago, maybe half an hour or so…But I also took three about an hour before that. The…feeling hadn't come. I'd taken my three and waited, but nothing. Just a rather dull sense of being removed from the situation. So I'd taken another two. Did three then two still count as five? Because five straight up made me puke. I learned that the hard way a week and a half ago. I wasn't gonna puke was I? That wouldn't be very cool…going all macho and standing up for the girl only to puke as soon as it was over. Dean would be disappointed in my John McClane skills.

"Drop your weapon!" A scowl good enough to send the Grinch running was thrown their way, but they didn't flinch. Of course not, that's their job isn't it? To look ugly in the face and slap it up when it gets mean-ugly?

The black Smith & Wesson dropped to the ground, and the cops were on him like lions on a fresh kill.

_Cuff him, officer! _I almost shouted in my best deep-man voice impression, but held my tongue.

One of the girls, Cell Phone or Counter Girl – I didn't know which - screamed shrilly.

"He's shot!"

Two spare officers jogged over and dropped next to me, holstering their weapons as they did so. "Son? Can you hear me?"

"You're right next to me, aren't ya?"

"He's not bleeding very bad, Mark, but get one of the paramedics in here to look at him."

While one of them – Mark – stood up and jogged towards the door, I leaned forward and grasped onto the jacket of the other one.

"We're gonna need a cleanup in aisle three."

He just gaped at me and I gently hummed _Enter Sandman_ until a paramedic, Lucy she said her name was, came in. She looked me over and agreed that it was just a graze. I was taken out the ambulance and she gently rubbed some stuff on it so as to prevent infection then very carefully wrapped some gauze around it.

By that point, I'd started to come back down from my slightly high cloud (clearly three plus two only makes like three and a half or something) to Earth and a fierce sting was dancing across my arm. It almost itched but I knew scratching wasn't exactly an option.

"Alright, sweet heart," I'm sixteen. Do I look like a damn sweet heart? "I think you're good to go. Do you need a ride to your home or anything?"

"No, my car's right over there." And what would they think if they dropped me off at a motel? Her eyes danced over to where the end of the Impala could barely be seen around the corner of the building.

"Okay, drive carefully. That arm isn't bad, but still, better safe than sorry," Lucy said with a grin.

"Sure thing," I said flashing a smirk. She frowned slightly, her eyebrows drawing slightly together sending ripples across her forehead.

I slid from the edge of the ambulance and rolled my shoulders before heading out towards the Impala. As I rounded the corner, my step faltered. There were four kids, teenage boys to be exact, standing in a small group near the right corner of the Impala's hood.

I didn't know what they were doing, but I know one thing for sure – I don't need any shit from Dean or Dad because I accidentally got involved in some gang crap. Pulling my shoulders back and holding my head I high, I walked towards the car with confidence. It was my car after all, I had all right to go to it.

They didn't really pay me any mind.

"You didn't hold through on your last promise, Joey. No damn I owe you's here," One of them growled.

"But-" One, Joey presumably, started but Mr. No-I-Owe-You's cut him off.

"No. Pay up or get lost. This is top brand crack here not some bottom of the barrel trash."

I became aware of my hand floating just above the handle of the car, my eyes staring intently at the tinted window. I was interested to say the least. Drugs, this was about drugs. I needed more drugs. But they were probably selling Marijuana or Heroin. I wasn't in the crap - that was for druggies. I was just using prescription drugs, even if it was a bit overkill.

"What about you?" For one heart stopping moment I thought the casual tone was directed at me, but someone else spoke up.

"Naw, man, not for a while. My mom found some shit in my bedroom and flipped. She started searching through my junk every time I come in the house."

"Then what are you doing here?" the previously friendly tone had turned ice cold. _Don't waste my time, shitbag. _

"Came with Joey."

"Well Joey's promises ain't worth dick here so why don't you both just-HEY! You!" Either someone had pulled something he didn't like or he was yelling at me. I didn't look up, just in case I had remained unnoticed.

"You there!" A hand wrapped around my uninjured bicep and jerked me to face the owner, the car keys falling from my fingers and dancing across the asphalt.

He was a tall kid, taller than me, but looked around my age. His blonde hair was died black on the sides and it was all gelled back smoothly. He was wearing a grey t-shirt with the words I DON'T MIND IF PEOPLE THINK YOU'RE A SLUT printed in bold white letters on the front. His mom certainly hadn't bought him _that _one. His jeans were baggy on his, what I guessed to be, rail thin frame.

"Um…" Thoughts were leaping through my mind, everything to _buy some shit and have some fun _to _I should have bought Dean some pie_. Instead of producing any of these, I simply said um again.

"What's your deal? You working for the coppers or something?"

"No," I said, glad that I managed at least one coherent statement, even if it was only two letters. Two of the boys, Joey and the kid whose mom found his drugs, both snuck off while the last boy stalked closer to me. I wasn't sure where this was headed, I may be in for a beating or maybe they'd let me go on my way. It's not like I was gonna tell anyone. Hell no. I was just curious, maybe slightly interested in purchasing some products.

"Then what're you doing standing around for?" His slang-y accent made what're sound like _wha-cho _and for sound like _fo. _This was ending, I realized. They would not let me go on my merry way and besides, I _was _low on drugs, might as well take advantage of the opportunity.

"Actually," I said clearing my throat and regaining my cool exterior, "I was interested in maybe purchasing something from you. You are selling d-_shit _aren't you?" For a second he seemed suspicious, before his hardened features marred with frown lines ironed out and a smile split across his face.

"Yes I am. Rick Murray at your service. What can I get for you today, I got all sorts of crap." Dear God he sounded like a car salesman. Minus the crap part, that is.

"Have you got any Vicodin? Or I suppose any painkiller would do." Rick snorted and his left eyebrow jumped up on his forehead while the other broke into quiet laughter.

"A newbie, I see. Well I'm telling you, you think Vicodin is good? It ain't got nothing on some of this junk."

"No," I said flatly. I wasn't going there even though my mind screamed at me to try it. Rick's smile fell a bit, but he quickly pulled it back up.

"Well if you're sure, I got a little of that. It's not real common cause it ain't half as good as some of the other stuff, but there's always someone willing to buy."

"That's nice and all, but I'm in the game of Vicodin." The Game of Vicodin. Yes, that's what it was. It wasn't drug abuse but it wasn't normal drug use. It was the Game of Vicodin.

Feeling quite satisfied, I pulled into the parking lot of our latest place, the Vicodin weighing comfortably in my pocket. The rest of my tiny family was home, Dean on the couch watching some sports game, Dad in the kitchen writing in his journal, when I got home.

"Hey, guys," I said. I didn't want to get into a conversation but I figured it'd be odd if I didn't at least greet them. Dean lifted a hand halfheartedly without saying anything and Dad simply ignored me. Nice to know my presence was missed.

* * *

><p>Blearily I opened my eyes to reveal the room at a sideways glance. It was dark out, maybe only one or two in the morning. Slowly my eyes adjusted, bringing the previously anonymous shapes in the room into focus. The giant gaping mouth became a closet and the crouching animal became a rickety chair. The tall shape in the corner became a person and-<p>

I sat bolt upright. There was a person in my room! I didn't even think of screaming as my hand shot out and turned on the light. It was then that I had to put conscious effort into not screaming.

It was Kris...only it wasn't, well not like I knew her anyway. Her face and what I could see of her arms, partially hidden under a 3/4 length jacket, was pure white and her lips and eyelids were tinted bluish purple. I got the feeling that if I could see her nails closer I would see they too were blue. There was thick blood matted all down the right side of her face and pieces of her beautiful _( probably soft too, but you never got to hold her close enough to tell_) blonde hair was coated with the sticky substance. By her hairline, there was a dark bloody gash. It was deep with tiny pieces of pearly white skull poking out and about a square inch of greyish matter visible too. Her light jeans were splattered with blood and I had a strong feeling that wasn't hers.

"Kris?" I asked softly, loathe to break the silence of the night. Her eyes were dark and intense, almost inhuman, but they seemed to brighten a bit as I spoke. She gestured me closer and I silently rose from the bed.

"Kris?" I asked again, louder this time in case she didn't hear me (but still not loud enough for anyone else to hear). My feet had brought me close to her. "Kris," I said slowly and clearly - because she obviously wasn't all there at the moment - "what happened? Were you in an accident?" But why would she come to me? I was almost 50 miles (and one hunt) away from where she lived. With such an injury, she would never have been able to make it this far. In fact, I was amazed she'd survived such an injury at all.

Suddenly it hit me with such clarity that I was surprised it hadn't occurred to me before. I was dreaming of course.

"What are you doing here, Kris?" I asked, no longer sounding hesitant and scared, assured of the moment's falseness. She raised her hand and gestured closer.

"I'm already here," I said whispered, a tinge of annoyance in my tone. I looked anywhere but her head, not wanting to see the grotesque injury even if it wasn't real. Her form vanished, without sound or light, and reappeared by the door where she again gestured me.

"You want me to follow?" I asked, even as I approached her. She didn't nod, but her dead eyes said yes. As we went into the hallway, I peered into Dean's room where I could barely mange to make out his indistinguishable form under the blankets.

Kris didn't really seem to walk, though her feet were on the ground and moving in time with her speed. She seemed to glide, without actually putting any weight on her feet.

It was when we entered the main room did I realize she was headed for the door.

"Kris," I said quietly, my step faltering. Kris turned (_floated_) around to face me, staring blankly. She gestured me once again, not seeming mad or frustrated. I still wasn't sure. This was my dream, which meant anything could be out there.

She beckoned me forward while her eyes seemed to say _trust me_. I nodded without much thought and followed her. On some level, I knew she would disappear when she got to the door but I still had to stop myself from gasping. I gently grasped the knob and, after sliding back the dead bolt, opened it. She was there waiting for me.

I only spared a thought or two for my bare feet before stepping out onto the muddy ground. I followed her all the way to the road. My feet were already starting to feel frozen in the cold mud and my baggy t-shirt no longer seemed adequate.

Kris stopped abruptly and turned to face me. At first, I thought she was going to beckon me and I almost snapped at her impatience, but instead she held both hands out in front of her, her elbows still pressed to her side, and turned her palms face up. I slowly raised my hands, not sure if that was her intention, and slid them into her hands.

It was not like dunking my hand in ice water. It was like _being_ dunked in ice water. Like someone had somehow forced it upon your entire body, as though someone had reached in and poured ice on your heart and frozen your blood. Immediately, I tried to yank my hands back but her grip was strong and didn't give in the slightest.

"Let me go, Kris." Was this dream about to turn into a nightmare? Her grip became tighter and tighter until the pain lacing up my arms warned me my wrists were about to break. "Let me go! Let me-" My voice broke off as my surroundings seemed to melt around me. Things fizzled out of clarity only to be replaced again by new surroundings.

"Where are we?" I asked even though I recognized the place instantly. It was a street near where Kris lived. Currently, there was an old blue sedan smashed against a light pole, whose yellow glow was still flickering on and off, at the end of the street. I glanced over at Kris besides me with terrified eyes, forgetting for a moment that it was dream.

When she said nothing, I turned and sprinted over to the car. There was someone in both seats but I couldn't tell who they were from my distance. A fear wrapped around my heart and squeezed painfully. I came up along the right side of the car. The window was all the way down and Kris's prone form was visible. Her head was hanging forward, facing the driver's side, and leaning on the metal support between the passenger window and the front windshield. Her eyes were open, forever staring at the driver's - was that Billie? - slouched form. From what I could tell neither of them had been wearing seatbelts and neither of the airbags had deployed. Blood had run down the metal support and puddled on the dashboard. Billie appeared to have collided face first with the steering while and his whole face was bloody and his cheek bone was protruding. I knew this was where the blood on her pants had come from.

_It's not real_, I assured myself. It was a dream. _Dear God, it has to be a dream._ A cold hand wrapped around my shoulder and turned me to face her.

"It's a dangerous road," she said, her voice gravely and choked. "Get help." I stammered for a couple minutes trying to get my thoughts straight. At first I was going to say that this was a dream and therefore I couldn't access real life police but then I realized she too was part of this dream. Was I supposed to find dream-police? My heart was still beating wildly against my chest at the sight of the girl I liked (_loved?_) lying dead before me, even if I knew it wasn't real. But then that brought up the startling pain - who was in the seat next to her? Billie. Was she back with him or was it just a coincidental timing thing? It didn't matter, I argued with myself, because not only was this a dream, but she wasn't my girl anymore. Never really got the chance to be at all. She could be fucking Billie right now in the real world and it would still be no concern of mine. Besides, hadn't I already learned her loyal roots weren't deep? They could be uprooted by the sight of, say, a handsome brother.

Finally I looked at Kris (the ghost one because why would I talk to a dead body?) and finally settled on the never failing, "I can't." She shook her head, in response to what, I don't know, and leaned closer. She wrapped two ghostly, cold hands around my pajama shirt and pulled me towards her. She opened her mouth to speak and I could smell garlic on her breath. Was she just coming back from dinner when she died? Was she coming back from dinner with Billie? I'd never know.

Not that it mattered because real-Kris wasn't dead.

"Don't lose yourself." Her voice was still rough, alarmingly so, but I could hear a bit of its natural sweetness coming through. In one swift movement, she pulled me closer still and her lips, cold and dead yet somehow still soft and sweet, pressed tightly against mine. She held it for only a second before I got the terrible feeling my stomach that I was falling. I looked down, wondering where the ground had gone, only to be met with the sight of the tan carpet right before I finished my descent off the edge of the bed.

It was all so sudden that I held my position, that of a person at the lowest point of a push-up with my nose just touching the floor, for almost two minutes. I stared at the carpet and rubbed my fingers across it to assure myself it was real. It felt real, but so had everything else. I could still feel the chilly tinge on my lips. My room was dark, because I'd never really turned on the light and the closet was still a gaping mouth, the chair a crouching form and there was no mysterious form to be Kris.

Very slowly I pushed myself up and sighed when I realized that Kris really wasn't there, that she was still miles away, probably unaware that there was anyone out there thinking of her. I quietly stumbled - I still felt dizzy from falling, even if it really only was two feet - across the hallway. Just as before, Dean was sleeping in a lump under the covers. I approached him and tried to stench my guilt.

Dean worked, a lot, and I don't just mean at a job. He kept me and Dad from killing each other, hunted, worked a job, not to mention keeping up pretense of complete contentment with life. He needed his sleep, too many long nights and too few sleep hours did that to you, and I was just being stupid anyway. I knew that I hadn't actually been magically transported miles away by the ghost of my girlfriend who never actually died. Right? Right.

But double checking never hurt anything.

"Dean," I whispered, shaking his shoulder lightly. Thankfully, his subconscious seemed to recognize me as not a threat or he probably would have jumped up and sliced my wrist off before his eyes were even open. As is, his eyes blearily slid open and his lip twitched. "Whassup?" he slurred, sounding badly drunk.

"This is real, right?" His eyebrows furrowed, probably thinking he wasn't conscious enough to understand the question or realize that he should probably worry for my sanity, and cocked his head slightly.

"Life still sucks, right?" he slurred.

"I guess so," I said not seeing where he was going.

"Then it's real." With those wise words of wisdom he rolled over in bed and began snoring almost instantly. I nodded, swallowed thickly, and went back across the hall.

"Just go back to bed," I told myself, now desperate to break the silence. I pulled back my sheets, swung my feet up and froze.

My feet had dry mud caked on them.

**TBC...**

**I can't resist a little supernatural factor...By the way, how was that for a long update? More than twice the size of normal - woohoo! **

**Please REVIEW!**


	11. Sick of Me

**Just a note: the living nightmare scene with Kris is strongly based off of a scene in _Pet Sematary _by Stephen King (possibly my fav book in existance) but I warped it.**

**CHAPTER 10**  
>Sick of Me<p>

_"Losin' health and now  
>you hate everything<br>and you're sick of me."_

I stamped down my panic and tried to force air in and out of my lungs. My thoughts were jumping like monkeys through the treetops, too fast for me to follow. I didn't have the sense nor the comprehension I needed at the moment to think out solid questions and answers as to what happened. As is, I could only think of cleaning my feet off and putting the mess aside until morning when the closet was no longer a mouth.

I walked to the bathroom, all the while checking the floor for prints, and stumbled in. There were two frayed, blue washcloths hanging off a metal wrack near the sink. Reaching out numbly, I grapped one and rubbed the material between my fingers absentmindedly. The tap seemed to echo around me, mocking my jumpiness.

The water was shocking against my feet (I couldn't get the water past lukewarm) and I had to fight instinct to pull back. Gently massaging up and down, I forced the threadbare material to remove the mud from my feet, while I pretended I knew it had gotten there logically. Other than a faint snore, neither Dean nor Dad made any noise suggesting they were suspicious or even aware of, the running water at such an early time.

Finally the last of the mud slipped down the drain. I relaxed a little. It was easier to downplay the whole thing when there wasn't a dirty reminder still on my feet. I dried them off with a matching, and equally frayed, blue towel which rubbed against my already raw feet painfully. As I stared at the red skin, I gently massaged my injured shoulder which had begun to ache a bit.

Once they were dry and clean, I walked back to my room and dropped onto my messy bed. The whole thing would surely make sense to a clear, morning head. There had to be a logical solution, even if it was supernatural.

I was asleep before my head touched the pillow.

It was only seconds after my eyes flicked open that I had already sat up, turned on the light and directed my attention towards Kris's spot (_Kris's spot?). But once again there was no one there. Why would I expect someone anyway? I'd already decided it didn't happen. And now, with the morning sun just beginning to peak through the curtains, it seemed obvious. I had sleep walked. It'd happened once before, when I was nine. I couldn't really remember why, but I remember Dean shaking me awake in the motel kitchen and me falling onto him as I came to. I'd taken him nearly an hour to calm me down after I freaked out thinking my lack of memory was due to demon possession._

But now I was sixteen and I knew that sleep walking could happen to anyone, especially if it had happened previously. I dreamed Kris was in my room and had therefore followed her outside. I'd probably find tracks outside leading to and from the road. I let out a laugh as I realized how stupid I must have looked as I looked into a car only I could see then got kissed by a non-existent girl. Thank God no one was around to see that happen.

Checking the clock showed it to be just after six so I got up and went to the kitchen to do something about breakfast. My sure steps faltered as I passed the front door. It's not like I had anything to lose, I told myself. Turning the knob, I yanked the door open quickly. As I expected (or perhaps just hoped for) I saw tracks leading out towards the road. I let out a breath. Just sleep walking.

Stepping onto the now dry dirt, I followed my own tracks all the way out to the road before I realized the problem. There was one set of tracks going one way. If I didn't walk back, then how did I get back?

(_She brought you)_

Before I could come up with a good reason, a man called out to me.

"Hey, you there!" I turned to see an older man leaning over his porch railing looking at me. He was wearing a nightgown and slippers and holding a newspaper still in the bag. "Sonny, where's that girl of yours?"

I nearly dropped to my knees as all the air in my chest quickly evacuated. "How old are you?" he asked, "Back in my day kids your age didn't have girls over to stay." He wasn't quite disapproving, more wistful.

"You saw a girl?" I called back, still hoping I'd heard wrong. I swallowed a couple times, sensing bile just below the surface.

He chuckled. "That I did, mighty pretty one too. I used to have a girl with red hair like that too."

"Red hair?" I breathed a sigh of relief. He was mistaken then. Kris was blonde.

"Yeah, and lighter at the bottom. But I could be wrong, it was mighty early. I was getting a glass of water from my kitchen and saw you two out the window."

Red with a lighter bottom. As in blonde hair soaked with blood at the top.

"Are you sure you saw her?" I asked stupidly. It was never too late for desperation.

Once more he chuckled. "Yeah, but don't worry, I won't tell your folks." If only that was the full extent of my problems.

"Sam!" A voice called sharply behind me. I turned to see Dad standing in the door way glaring sharply at me. "Coming," was the most I could choke out. I gave a half-hearted wave to the old man, who winked back, and headed inside. Dad shut the door and walked past me, grumbling all the way. I silently dropped into my place at the kitchen table, where a sleepy Dean was already sitting. The box of cereal and a bowl was shoved my way as Dad dropped into the place across from me and buried his nose in the newspaper.

"What were you doing outside?" Dean asked, his eyes still drooping.

"Nothing." He raised an eyebrow at my answer but went back to his cereal. My own cereal tasted of ash. He'd seen her. He'd seen Kris and there were only tracks going one way. Even in my desperation I couldn't chalk this down to sleep walking.

I was about half way through my cereal, all the while putting serious effort into thinking about nothing, when Dean interrupted me again. "Hey, Sam."

"What?" I snapped which immediately elicited a "Watch your tone." from Dad. Dean either didn't mind or didn't notice.

"What was that girl's name? Christine wasn't it?" I felt a flare of anger. Yeah, you know the girl you stole from me? Good ole whatshername?

"Yeah, Christine Randle."

"That's what I thought," he said slowly. He gently tugged the page of the newspaper closest to him out of Dad's hand and slid it over to me while pointing to a small article in the lower corner. TWO DEAD IN CAR ACCIDENT it proclaimed in bold lettering.

"Oh, yeah?" I said, once again feeling sick.

_Two teenagers died as a result of a head on collision with a lamppost late last night. The couple, William Marks, 17, and Christine Randle, 16, were driving back from a party, where no alcohol was served, when the car swerved to the right, colliding with a lamp post. The cause of the crash is unknown as of yet. Donna Wilkes, who lived in the house closest to the location of the crash, reported to have woken up to the sound of the crash and looked out her window to see the car. Wilkes said she didn't call the police immediately because "I thought I saw someone looking in the car window so I assumed it was being taken care of. But when I looked back, they were gone." Police and paramedics were called to the scene shortly after. Marks, who was driving at the time of the crash, was alive when paramedics arrived, but sustained substantial injury, particularly to the facial area, and died only an hour after in the local hospital. Randle was pronounced dead on arrival, the official cause of death listed as blunt force trauma to the head. This was the first case of vehicle related death between all three of the counties that make of the Tri-County Area in the last 1 1/2 years. Memorials will be held..._

I slammed the paper down, unwilling to read more. Dean was looking at me, concern written on his face, and even Dad had looked over to see what was going on.

"Sam-"

"I think I'm done with breakfast," I said abruptly, pushing away from the table. No one stopped me. Instead of heading for my room to get dressed for school, I detoured into the bathroom. Under the sink, hidden way in the back, was my bottle of Vicodin. I turned on the sink to disguise the noise, then opened the bottle (child proof? Yeah right.) and dumped the remainder out into my hand.

Two pills. That was it, just two. I swallowed them both, my frustration at the world mounting. Instead of my normal wave of calm, or the immediate floating sensation - depending on how many I took - I got nothing. Not a thing. Well except maybe disappointment.

"Faster, I want to see those legs moving!" I growled at the gym coach's pestering as the class ran loops around the gym. Didn't he understand we were going as fast as we could? I could feel my legs shaking under me and my breathing getting shallower and shallower.

Both Dean and Dad had agreed I could stay home if I wanted, but I'd told them no. I didn't want to stop life, if I did, I'd drown in my thoughts.

I swallowed down some bile and tried to keep up my pace, but it wasn't possible. Whether it was emotional turmoil or simply a lack of drugs, I didn't know. Probably both.

Finally I gave in. I stopped running and jogged over to our coach. He turned and glared at me. "Winchester!" he announced loudly. Yes, thank you, I know who I am. (_Do you?) Stamping down on the little voice, I looked right into his dark eyes._

"I really don't feel good, coach."

"Is that so?" He only seemed a little suspicious. I did look sick, that much was true. I let my eyelids droop a bit for effect. Something seemed to shift in his eyes and soon he was nodding. "Alright, why don't you go change, take a shower too if you want, and wait in the hallway." I nodded my appreciation and walked toward the boys' locker room.

The boys' locker room had tan walls and a white ceiling with grey lockers lined up in three aisles. Down the middle of each aisle was a bench - the kind without a back so people on both sides could use it. The door to the gym was directly across the door to the hallway on the East and West facing walls. Along the South wall was a doorway which lead to the showers and toilets as well as sinks. The sinks, across from the toilet stalls, were all lined up against the wall with one big mirror spanning across the entire wall.

Deciding a cold shower would be nice, I pulled all my clothes out of my locker and hung them on a hook with my towel outside the shower. I stripped down outside of the shower since I was the only one there and looked at my pale reflection in the mirror. I could count all of my ribs with ease. My eyes, which looked tired and sad, were mildly bloodshot. As if on cue, the scratch along my arm where I'd been grazed by the bullet - an injury of which Dad and Dean still knew nothing off - gave a small throb as my eyes ran over it. It was healing but at the moment, it looked jagged and rough. It seemed eons ago I had stood in the aisle of a tiny store standing practically at gun point, all fear removed by drugs. It seemed a millennia ago I had crashed through a stone fountain and injured my knee.

Disgusted, I turned away and started the shower. The cold water was harsh on my skin, but I didn't pay much attention. My mind was just starting to process that Kris was really and truly dead. It was no longer a sick nightmare, but a harsh truth. I probably would have never seen her again anyway, but it was still different. This was a young girl, and a young boy too, that were wiped of the planet, just like that. She would never marry or bear children. She would never buy a house or even a dog. All that potential, gone. Part of me was resentful that she was with Billie, but it was a single thread compared to a whole rope of grief. Why was it wrong of her to be with Billie? It had been two weeks and I'd like to think that at the very least she was upset about how we left things. So what if she needed comfort and could only find it in the arms of her ex?

And now, away from the shock of the moment, did I think it was true that Kris's ghost had come to see me? Didn't we deal with the supernatural every day? Hadn't I learned anything was possible with the dead? Absolutely. So call me crazy but I was confident Kris had come to visit me last night. Why I didn't know, but I was certain that it did in fact happen.

Without realizing it, warm tears began to slide down my face. Not just for Kris or her wasted potential, but for myself as well. If my father had his way, I would never marry or have children or purchase a house or a dog. I would be wasted as well, wasted by hunting. I would live hunting and I would die hunting. Without happiness anywhere along the way. And what was I doing? Wasting away myself faster. Drugs. What would Dean say? What would Dad say? What would my mother, who gave her life for me, say? They would all be disgusted. As was I.

I leapt out of the shower just in time to puke in the toilet.

**TBC...**


	12. Blood, Sex, and Booze

**Sorry I didn't get a chance to do review replies, I was working on a spanish project last night and only got a few minutes on the internet. Thanks a bundle for all the reviews though, they really mean a lot - you guys rock!**

**CHAPTER 11**  
>Blood, Sex, and Booze<p>

_"It's so unfair  
>I won't dare move, for the pain<br>She puts me through is what I need."_

The gentle breeze sifted between the bushes and trees, making the whole forest shiver as one. My skin prickled up despite the sweat dripping off my forehead. I was freezing cold, but sweating like a pig all the same. And I knew why.

In the last month and a half since the holdup – still my secret – I had become a very good drug addict. Well, good enough at least. I suppose to a close eye, it'd be obvious. So it was a good thing no one was looking very close.

Calm was no longer good enough. It was the high I craved, needed as this point. I had gotten down a routine. Four pills in the morning and four in the afternoon/evening. My first period class was study hall and since I had no friends, I just read quietly, making it incredibly easy to hide my own drug induced high. I spoke very little to Dad or Dean, so they suspected nothing and even if they did, it was chalked down to typical morning weariness. That was good enough to get me through to the evening when I took four more pills after dinner, which depending on whether Dean grabbed dinner on his way home from work, could be anytime between five and six-thirty. And that was that. I often took three at lunch to hold off the headaches and anxiety I occasionally got. Withdrawal I supposed.

Which lead to my current predicament. I had known tonight was the night of the hunt so I taken my evening four earlier, almost immediately after getting home from school. And now, as it neared one, my body was starting to show its displeasure.

I'd never really suffered withdrawal before because during the time in which I would have gone through it, I was always asleep. I hadn't really known what to expect.

The one thing I hadn't done, wouldn't ever do despite having sunk so low, was to get high before a hunt. That was out of the question. Because the one thing I would never do would be to knowingly put Dean at risk. I couldn't very well watch his back while giggling hysterically at nothing, could I?

But, as my muscles were starting to fiercely ache and sweat dripped down my nose and my fingers danced endlessly in agitation, I had to admit this wasn't much better. I suppose I couldn't watch Dean's back while puking in a bush either, and the way I was feeling, that was where I was headed. If I was smart, I would have said I didn't feel good and stayed behind.

Hindsight is 20/20 after all.

I sniffled a couple times and pulled my gun, loaded with silver rounds, closer to my body. I could still make out Dean about fifty feet in front of me, but the quickening darkness was making that harder and harder. Perhaps I wasn't even really seeing him, maybe I only _saw_ him because in my mind I knew he was there so my mind made up a shadow to be him.

I suddenly longed to call out to him. To have him come, worried. I longed for the days where he'd wrap his arm around my shoulder and give me one armed hug then wink, no matter how stupid my problem was. But not anymore. Not that I could right now anyway, he might wonder why I was sweating like I was stuck in a sauna.

It was only when my abs began to cramp, maybe an hour later, that I really began to worry. If our predictions were right, and they usually were, the werewolf would be heading in our general direction soon. Dad was somewhere on the other side of the forest, tracking and if needed herding – by means of a flashlight which a werewolf would naturally move away from – the werewolf towards us. As usual, Dean was the front lines, waiting to shoot as soon as he saw the big baddy and I was only back up defense. Normally I would have felt indignant about this, but now, feeling just a tad nauseous, I started to think that was probably a good idea.

There was a snap of a branch up ahead and the shadow I imagined to be Dean as well as myself both stiffened.

"Ready, Sammy?" a voice floated back to me. I wondered how Dean managed to whisper so quietly but still reach me. It was as if his voice had been delivered to me like mail, only open on each end, instead of floating through the air for all to hear. But we had a connection like that…or we did at one point, at least.

I swallowed thickly, nodded before realizing the pointlessness of such an action, then replied positively. Taking aim, I brought my gun up and try to stamp down on the foreboding feelings that were squirming in my stomach.

In one great moment that will forever remain stained in my memory, the werewolf, larger than I remembered from the last werewolf hunt we had almost a year ago, broke forth from the bushes and charged at Dean. _Here it goes,_ I thought, not sure to what I was referring. The first shot missed by about an inch, over the creature's shoulder, but Dean's second shot went wild as a large, clawed hand raked the weapon out of his hands. I immediately ducked down to line up my sights, stamping down on the desire to call out to my brother. It was hard to get a clear shot without hitting Dean who was expertly ducking around the vicious claws swiping at him. He made a dive for his gun giving me a clear shot, but a new need presented it to me. I tried to hold off, just for a second to get off the shot, but it wasn't possible. I rolled to the side and puked, the sound buried underneath the wild howl of the werewolf.

As I focused on not falling into my own vomit and attempted to struggle back into position to fire, Dean cried out, not it pain but in the seconds before inevitable pain, but it was abruptly cut off by a gunshot. I threw myself back into my original position raising my gun quickly, not sure who shot or what was going on but knowing a lot had happened in my few seconds of absence.

The werewolf was lying on the ground, in the process of turning into human form in its final moments, while Dean was leaning against a tree, breathing heavily. He seemed unhurt other than a small cut on his cheek where a claw had likely nicked him. Standing behind him was Dad, gun hanging limply from one hand. Of course…he had arrived just in the nick of time just as any Hollywood hero would. Both of their eyes travelled from the now dead beast to me in perfect unison.

"Sam!" Dad barked while Dean's eyebrow's drew together in an unreadable expression. Dad stormed over to me.

"What on Earth were you doing over here?" I didn't know what to say. I couldn't very well say I was puking in the bushes could I?

"I-I-I…" I stammered uselessly.

"You nearly got Dean killed tonight!"

"Dad-" Dean spoke up. I wasn't sure if he was arguing the harshness of the statement, arguing that he could have handled himself, or that he was nowhere near dying at that point.

"Not now, Dean!" Dad snapped, silencing his perfect soldier. "I'm so disappointed in you." I felt as though someone had stabbed me right in the heart, but I tried to keep my expression neutral. Dad's nose suddenly wrinkled. "What is that smell?" he demanded in disgust before heading towards the car. I was surprised he could smell it all, the scent of werewolf blood was heavy in the air like a sick reminder of the murder we had committed. Murdering a murderer. That was still murder wasn't it? Jack Ruby was still imprisoned for the murder of Lee Harvey Oswald wasn't he? Dean retrieved his gun and followed Dad, giving me a quick pat on the shoulder on his way by.

Yawning widely, I followed after.

When we got home, about twenty minutes later, I instantly dropped onto my bed, the luminescent numbers reading 2:56 on my clock. God was I tired! Almost three in the morning…and I'd have to be up by seven for school. There was another hunt nearby, a restless spirit by the sounds of things, that Dad was leaving for in the morning while Dean and I stayed here. Then all three of us would probably leave town sometime next week.

Reaching under my mattress, I retrieved the bottle that had come to control my life. Over the last weeks, I had succeeded in finding several different drug dealers in different states to keep my supply up but I knew it wouldn't last much longer. Not only was my tolerance building, but each time gave me less results. Soon I'd either have to start taking more or switch to something stronger. Every drug dealer had insisted that I didn't know what I was missing out on and each time I denied their offer. After all, heroin, marijuana, all of that was drug abuse. I was just…experimenting.

I had the urge to down the whole bottle but resisted, instead popping three pills into my mouth, more for the sake of ending withdrawal than actually getting high. After all it was hard to enjoy a high when you were asleep.

Which I was, in less than seven minutes.

The sound of slamming lockers and the general chaos of afterschool flooded the hallway, making my head hurt. I dragged the books I would need for that nights homework and added the slam of my own locker to the rising noise.

As I slung my backpack over one shoulder, I massaged my temples with my other hand. Taking a right, I turned into the main lobby and headed for the exit, pushing through the masses of people. Even though my knee was healed, Dean had stuck to the routine of picking me up after school then going back to work. On my way out the door, someone grabbed my shoulder and called, "Hey, you!" Fighting my immediate instinct to break the arm on my shoulder, I turned around.

Before me was a short but busty girl with a large amount of make-up on her square face, the most noticeable being crimson lipstick on her plump lips. The hair that hung around her face was chocolate brown and was a mass of curls. I may be somewhat new here, but I knew this girl was popular just by looking at her.

Why she was talking to me was a total mystery.

"You're Sam, right?" she asked, cracking her gum loudly.

"Yeah." For some reason I sounded incredibly uninterested, which in reality, I was quite curious. Mind you, I was also eager to get home, and besides, Dean would flip if I took too long.

"Normally new people don't get invited, but there's something about you that I like." Yes, because having never met me before, you're a perfect judge of my character. "Me and a couple friends are having a party this weekend. 22 Terrace Street, nine o'clock. Be there."

"Yeah, definitely, thanks," I said. Not only was I trying to sound cool, like I fit in, but I surprised by how easily I could sound like I belonged. I also wasn't sure when exactly I started going to parties held by random people I'd never met before. Or when I started agreeing to go on such short whim without at least running it by Dean.

She nodded and began to walk away then stopped and turned again to face me. "I'm Ruth by the way." She didn't wait for a reply before leaving, the sounds of her chewing gum following after her.

"Dean, please!" I begged as he paced back in forth in front of me. I was sitting on the small couch in our living room, itching for some Vicodin, but not willing to go until I had my way. Dean was busy wearing tracks into the faded carpet.

"No," he growled again. What was that? The seventh time in maybe…the last minute? God was I tired! My eyes wandered to the wall clock behind him to see it was only 3:20. _Drugs,_ I mentally moaned. I knew I should have waited until Dean got back from work before telling him about the party. But instead I was a moron and told him in the car as he dropped me off from school and he decided that scolding me took precedence over work and came in with me.

"Dean," I started again, fully aware I was whining.

"Sam, stop! Look we're supposed to be researching so when Dad gets back we're ready to roll."

"Dean-"

"Sam! Listen to me, I'm in charge here and I'm saying you can't go." My eyes widened with anger. Oh how I hated when someone pulled the 'I'm in charge here' card. I hated it with Dad and apparently that applied to Dean as well. He'd never pulled rank on me before. Because, despite our age difference, we were a team. _Team_ as in working _together._ And I never tattled when he ran off to make out with some random chic. I never tattled when he skipped hunting duties for sex. But the one time I actually have a social life and he's suddenly turns into a Hunting Hitler!

"That's not fair!" I said indignantly as I rose to my feet.

"_Life_ isn't fair! Besides, we both know you're ten times better at research than me! I'll never finish by myself!" I wouldn't fall for it. He was only flattering me to try and get me to agree. He didn't actually think that. We all knew Dean was the perfect soldier of the Winchester boys. He gets all the talent and I get none.

"Dean, you _always_ go to parties and shit and I _never_ tell on you," I furiously. "So if you think I'm just gonna sit here like an obedient puppy, you're wrong. I'm not a moron, Dean, I can make my own damn decisions." He looked quite shocked. Probably just because precious, naïve little Sammy swore.

"If the situation were different, I would let you go-" I didn't let him finish. He had crossed the line with one little word.

"_Let_ me go? You would _let _me go? Well, fuck you because I'm going and good luck stopping me," I snarled before storming to my room.

**TBC...**

**The combo of teenage hormones and drugs is a nasty one, eh?**


	13. Sassafras Roots

**CHAPTER 12**  
>Sassafras Roots<p>

_"Warding off regret  
>Wasting your time<br>Smoking cigarettes."_

I've never been to a club before. If I had to hazard as guess, I would have said it looked exactly like that house did. It was pretty dark, with a few colored lights strung from the ceiling. It was loud, both from people and the music. There were mysterious red cups all over the place. I was yet to figure out what exactly was in them.

The situation with Dean and I was odd to say the least. We hadn't talked. Quite literally. Not a single word was exchanged between us since I bellowed 'fuck you' at my brother at the top of my lungs yesterday evening. About an hour ago, I'd left the house. Just got up and left. Dean said nothing, I said nothing. And now I was here. To be honest, I was, quite frankly, scared shitless. What would happen when I got back? Had I just destroyed everything Dean and I had built in the last fifteen years? Now that was a scary thought. God was I a horrible brother.

"Wanna dance?" A petite redhead stood behind me. She was paler than pale and my first instinct said vampire. How scary is that?

"Sure." I had to be here for some reason. And it'd certainly cost me a pretty penny so I was damn well gonna enjoy this. I took her offered hand and we went out towards the middle of the living room and danced. I wasn't great and I didn't know what the hell I was doing but she seemed to be content with my dance skills.

She shifted to the left, blocking the light and creating a halo around her head. It should have been beautiful. If my life was a movie, I would have paused and had some great epiphany, struck senseless by the beauty of the moment. But this isn't a movie and I didn't have an epiphany. In fact I was tempted to shoo her to the right.

"Having fun?" she asked softly, seeming to sense my hesitation.

"Yeah, you?" she nodded as the song ended. When the next song began to play she moved closer. A slow dance. Great. Because I really needed to prove just how bad my dance skills were. When her arms came up around my neck, I got a whiff of her perfume. A nausea like I'd never known before welled up in me. It gripped my stomach and seemed to shake me thoroughly, just waiting to see how long I'd last before puking.

Was it drugs? Possible. I'd only taken three before coming. I wanted to remember this night. I got the feeling something was going to happen, but I didn't know what. At the moment, the only thing that I could see happening was me trying to puke on the girl, whatever her name was.

My body tingled with desire. Not for her, for _it._ My fingers clenched, claw-like, behind her as I was overwhelmed with the need to do something.

Doing a sudden flip, my stomach rebelled even more against the smell of her heavy perfume next to my nose and the terrible, yet all too familiar, taste of bile sped up my throat. I swallowed thickly and the girl pushed away from me.

"Are you okay?" she asked suspiciously.

"Uh, yeah. I'm gonna go get some…drink, do you want some?"

"Sure," she said slowly as her green eyes searched my face. She flicked her straight hair behind her shoulder. I blinked a second before realizing getting drinks required movement. I turned stiffly, and try to quell the terrible sensation churning in my gut.

The pitcher shook in my hands as I poured the liquid – a sniff made me think coke and some type of alcohol – into two red plastic cups. Scents and sounds overwhelmed me. The music, the dance feet, the talking, it all pounded against my head in great waves of pain. And the smell…it was awful. The food, the cheese and crackers, the alcohol, the perfume, it was sickening. Literally. A fresh wave of nausea gripped me. Clenching tightly onto the thin red plastic, I grabbed onto the edge of the table to support myself. My eyes closed tightly warding off tears as my head began to pound rhythmically. Bad. Bad. This was all bad.

"I was starting to think you got lost on your way to the punch bowl," her voice joked behind me. Laughing lightly, I swallowed my misery and turned to face her.

"Nope." It sounded oddly shaky, but she accepted it. She took her cup and had a sip. I followed suit. As soon as it touched my tongue, I knew I'd made a crucial mistake. Maybe it was the quickly coming migraine, desire for drug, alcohol or some combination of the three, but my body was done.

The cup slipped from my numb fingers, landed on the ground and soda exploded outwards in every direction. Time seemed to slow as the girl leapt away from the splash with a faint squeak and several people turned to look. My hand went immediately to the table to support myself and my other arm wrapped tightly around my stomach as I bent double, knees shaking threateningly.

"What's wrong?" she asked nervously. I looked up at her just in time for bile to rush up my throat. I spun to my left. My body quivered as my stomach expelled its contents. This time she did scream for real, leaping away. Whether in alarm or disgust, I didn't know.

"Oh my god, tha-that's…gross," someone said shakily. I suppressed the call for Dean that immediately rose to my lips. I asked for this. I wanted to come. Why on Earth had I wanted to come?

It took a surprising amount of effort not to just drop to my knees in the mess I'd just made and I only barely managed to fall off to the side. Looking up, I realized most of the party was staring at me in either horror or disgust.

"Maybe you should go home," the girl I'd danced with suggested tentatively.

"Where," I swallowed roughly and began again, "where is the bathroom?"

"That way," a blonde boy said with a nod of his head towards a hallway on the right. My head, aching with pain and weighing a ton, pleaded for Dean, but my mouth dutifully stayed silent. Carefully, I dragged my hands under me and pulled myself up. My mouth had that gross taste in it, but there wasn't much I could do about that at the moment.

I swayed almost immediately, and was actually kind of surprised when Dean's familiar arms didn't wrap around me as always to support me. Instead a random dude put his hand on my shoulder in a half disgusted manner. How comforting.

"Uh," I said awkwardly. Was it okay to just excuse myself to the bathroom. My eyes flicked over to the mess.

"I'll take care of that," a tall brunette, who was wearing a white shirt that said KISS ME I'M IRISH in sparkly green lettering, said. "The rest of you…why don't we move this party outdoors. We've got a big pool and plenty of lights." Everyone nodded their general agreement before moving away.

"Thank you," I croaked. She nodded, smiling sympathetically. "I'm sorry," I added because it seemed like the right thing to say. Once again she nodded. I stumbled towards the bathroom, taking shallow breaths all the way.

The bathroom was painted light blue with brown accents. Across from the toilet was a white pedestal sink with two shelves on the wall near it.

I stood for just a moment before practically throwing myself at the toilet. Just in time too.

Five minutes later, the bout was done and I laid there, body quivering. My head rested against the side of the toilet but I had not the strength to move it away from the foul smell. My vision was spinning slightly.

It was misery and once again the need for Dean arose. God how pathetic I was! I would never be able to survive on my own.

I moaned and rolled my head about, then stopped suddenly. A familiar glint had caught my eye. Orange plastic…a prescription bottle! Trying not to get overly excited ahead of time, I flung my limp body towards it. My hand was outstretched like a groping blind man as it closed around the orange bottle. My eyes scanned over it, then read over a few more times in shock.

Percocet.

A pain killer. By now, I really didn't care what it was. Hell at this point I could get high on children's grape cough medicine.

I dumped the pills out into my hand. How many would it take? They were stronger than Vicodin right? My shaking hands wouldn't bring to bottle up for my inspection so instead I just downed three. If four was good for Vicodin than three for Percocet?

In that one moment, where I unknowingly risked my life, I didn't know. I didn't know just how much stronger Percocet was and I didn't know that some people could overdose of just a few Percocet, five maybe. I didn't think about the Vicodin I'd taking half an hour ago or the alcohol I'd drank. I would have been more careful. But I didn't know. Ignorance is not always bliss.

For a minute, nothing. Then it hit me like a truck. I stumbled with the force and immediately I knew something was wrong. My breathing picked up and the air seemed sickly hot. I sidled sideways into the wall and blinked a few times in confusion.

Holy shit. I knew what was happening. I'd done the one thing I had sworn never to do: overdose. How bad was it? I wasn't keeling over, death gathering a grip on me. Maybe this was somewhere between a high and an overdose.

Maybe this was hell.

I flushed the toilet (after missing once and thudding my hand against the cold porcelain to the right of the lever) and splashed some water on my face, swallowing several times. Finally I gathered myself up and opened the door. It wasn't that far. It wasn't even a ten minute walk to where we were staying, I could make it. Then I could curl up with my good friend the toilet and puke to my heart's content. But I just had to make it back. I ignored the large factor in my plan named Dean.

"Hey," the Irish girl said softly. "Are you feeling any better?" She asked as she pulled off rubber gloves.

"Yeah, thanks. I'm gonna go home though." How I was forming words was beyond me.

"Understandable."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, everyone gets sick. Come on, I'll show you out." The silence seemed deafening as we walked towards her front door and I became aware that I was sweating like a pig.

"It was really a great party though." She looked uncomfortable for a minute before seeming to come to a mental decision.

"Honestly, I don't really like parties. My older sister, Ruth, put this on but I don't know where she is. Probably having keg competitions in the back yard," she said with a role of her eyes. Huh. Guess I wasn't the only black sheep in the family on the planet. "Do you need to call a ride?" she asked suddenly.

"No, I'll walk." She stopped.

"What? You can't walk! Not in your condition!" Condition? I wasn't terminally ill here, I just puked a couple times. She didn't need to know the room was tilting slowly left and right or that my stomach was still churning.

"It's fine, it's not that far," I said then began walking again. In a useless attempt to cool off my burning forehead, I ran a hand across my brow, jerking only slightly at the practically frozen touch of my own hand.

We arrived at the door.

"I'm sorry," I said for the hundredth time, though this time my words slurred slightly.

"It's fine, really. Are you sure you can get yourself home?" she asked doubtfully. I nodded. I'd gotten myself here, I could get back. And no way in hell was I calling Dean…though I'd like to think he'd come if I did.

Instead I turned to face the lonely, bitter air.

**TBC...**


	14. Desensitized

**Hey guys! Thank you so much for the amazing reviews! This chapter does have some worried big-bro Dean, but sadly it's about the wrong problem. You'll have to wait a bit longer for that. Oh and Sam gets a whole lot worse before he gets better. Definite suicidal themes in this one, but no actions. That aspect, at least, is better by the end. **

**Only three chapters left after this. **

**Enjoy!**

**C****HAPTER 13**  
>Desensitized<p>

_"I wanna get ripped off  
>And drown in the airwaves<br>Another fatal wreck"_

"Catherine, wait!"

Standing on the sidewalk near the end of the drive, I watched as a busty girl stalked down the walkway, pausing for a second to pull on her other shoe. Dean's form was nothing but a shadow in the open doorway. She turned, the shoulder of her sweatshirt slipping down.

"It's Charlotte!" Her short, light brown curls bobbed as she spun around again. Dean leaped up the steps and caught up to her, neither one noticing me in the shadows to the left. He caught her shoulder and she turned again.

Jerking his hand off her, she snapped, "Get yourself a new nightly bitch, Dean, because we're done!" He stood for a second, gaping as she left, turning the away from me. As Dean turned to go back into the house, he saw me.

"Sam!" he sounded rather accusatory.

"Dean," I said faintly.

"What, were you spying on me?" he demanded. I struggled to comprehend and form a response as I took a few shaky steps forward.

"Dean," I said. My breathing was getting shallower and shallower and the world was really beginning to spin.

"Sam? What are you drunk?" Dean asked, the faintest trace of worry lacing his voice.

"I-I…" Drunk? Was I drunk? I didn't know. Where had I been that I would have been drinking? "I was drinking?" I asked curiously.

"Sam?" Now he sounded really scared. Huh. I felt the odd need to check behind my shoulder to make sure something wasn't waiting there to chop off my head.

I took another step forward, but apparently my body was done listening. As everything suddenly grayed over, I fell to my knees. I would have done a complete face plant if it hadn't been for Dean, swooping in like always to save me. Dear God I was a damsel in distress!

"Sam? Sammy! What's going on?" Dean whispered quickly in my ear as my head fell forward to rest on his shoulder. I was about to mumble something when a new need made itself known.

"Sick. Dean, sick!" Only Dean would be able to understand that incomprehensible mess, but understand he did. In one swift motion, I was on my hands and knees on the edge of the driveway and Dean was soothing me with sweet nothings while rubbing my back.

A couple minutes later had me gasping and coughing at the same time, resulting in some strange noises.

"Shh, Sam, relax," Dean said calmly. He waited another thirty seconds or so before asking, "think you can stand? Go inside and get you some water?"

"Yeah," I said, my voice cracking roughly.

"Come here, Princess," Dean said jokingly, though his tone was only one of worry. He pulled my arm over his shoulder and carefully helped me to my feet. My head rolled slightly and landed against Dean's chest.

"You smell nice," I murmured. And by nice I meant not like puke. As I did.

"Excuse me?" I could just imagine the look on his face. Funny. "Okay…time to get you to bed I see." We made our way up the drive slowly. It was one of those two story houses where one person rented the top floor and someone else rented the bottom floor. We had the bottom. The six steps down to that level were hell, but we made it down them without any new injuries sustained, so I counted that as a victory.

"Water?" Dean asked as he deposited me on the couch, where I'd sat last night pleading to go to party. I nodded. Words were beyond me. He brought me a glass of water, which I took.

Sitting down next to me, Dean brought a hand to my forehead. He frowned.

"You're cold, kinda clammy."

"So?" I snapped. I was suddenly very tired.

"Geesh, Sam, sorry. I'm just trying to figure out what…Sam?" My eyes widened and I began swallowing quickly. "You gonna be sick?" I nodded vigorously. He gripped my arm and pulled me up, none too gently, and all but dragged me to the bathroom. I didn't need any help getting down, I simply dropped like a lead weight. Ignoring the flare of pain in my knees, I crawled to the toilet just in time to puke.

A hand appeared on my back followed by a cool cloth on the nape of my neck.

"Are you gonna be okay for a minute? I'm just gonna call Dad and update him." He left. I wanted to plead no. Don't go. Don't call Dad. Don't tell him I went to a party. But most importantly, don't go.

My head flopped against the cold porcelain. This was all my fault. I'm such a fucking moron. I didn't deserve Dean. The guilt was a physical pain, tearing at me.

"Yeah, I'm not sure why…" Dean said into the phone as he hovered outside the doorway where he could check on me but still give me some semblance of privacy. "Yeah, a party...I know...I know, research, but Dad, it's Sammy…he never goes out to parties and I wouldn't have let him go if I didn't think we'd still be able to get it done…" Let me go…ha! "Dad," Dean said seriously, "I think someone might have spiked his drink…"

That was too much, just much. As I hung there, body and mind aching, head resting against the toilet rim, the potent smell of vomit wafting in my nose while listening to Dean worry that someone had forced drugs on me, it all became too much. Salty tears began to trickle down my cheeks. He was that confident in me, that sure I would make smart decisions. He didn't think I had drunk too much alcohol, or that I got a little too cocky and experimented with some drug or other being passed around at the party. Despite the unlikely hood of it, Dean was sure the only way I would have taken drugs was unknowingly. Oh God! It was like claws ripping apart my chest. I fisted my shirt with one hand, feeling the pressure of my nails through the thin fabric.

"Someone please kill me," I moaned quietly.

"Yeah, I'll let you know if it gets worse…bye." The phone clicked off. Dean came back in and bent down beside me, once again rubbing my back. This was torture. Just having Dean next to me, worrying, when this was all willingly…when I did this. I caused myself this pain as well as Dean's worry. I was a hideous monster, no better than the things we hunted, than the demons we exorcised.

"Do you need anything?" Dean asked. I couldn't stand it.

"I need to you to _go away._" I snapped, my voice cracking with more tears that spilled down my face. Huh. Upset coming out in the form of anger? Guess I was a Winchester after all.

Hurt flashed across his face and for a second I felt guilty. But I was doing him a favor. And I couldn't take any more agony. Another second in his presence would surely cause my heart to burst.

"Uh, o-okay, Sammy, if that's what you want." He sounded almost as miserable as me as he turned to go.

More tears dripped down my face, and realizing my nausea had, at least temporarily, abated, I curled into a ball. I could barely breathe as my mouth hung open, my silent cries choking me.

_Someone kill me. Please, someone kill me. _Or maybe I could kill myself and this would stop. Everyone would be better off. Dad would never need to struggle with me, he'd get his perfect soldier with no more trouble on the side. And Dean would finally be able to have the life he wanted. He could relax more, no longer needing to play parent for me. He'd be able to train all he wanted and sleep with a different girl every _hour_ if he wanted. There'd be no more fights to stress either of them out, and school would no longer be a factor. And think of all the money they'd save!

And me. Me, put out of my misery like a rabid dog. It was my fault, I was fully aware of that. I'd slowly dug myself into a hole and left my ladder at the top. I'd started drug abuse on my own decision and now I had to deal with the consequences. But I wasn't a perfect, strong hunter, I didn't want to deal with the consequences. What I wanted was to put myself out of my misery.

What would I say? I knew for sure there was no way I could go without saying good-bye, not to Dean, not Dean who gave up everything to raise me. That wouldn't be fair. But how do you say thank you for a life time of brotherhood? More than that really. A life time of…being my everything – friend, brother, parent, anchor – for being the only person who can calm me down after a blow out with Dad, and the only person who knows just the right balance of humor and seriousness to keep me from going insane in this crazy life. Dean, _my Dean._

How do you say that?

And what would my death to him? Could I add a contractual clause to my suicide note saying Dean was required to continue with life? I didn't kid myself into thinking Dad would be too upset. Maybe a week or so of mourning, then just more hunting. Funny…I'd always hated hunting and my self-inflicted death would surely only bring more.

I stood up on shaking legs and walked over to the sink. Underneath we had our first aid kit. I pulled out some morphine, which we _borrowed_ from some hospital the last time one of us was there with a serious injury, some three or four years ago.

I opened the cap and stared at it.

_Dear Dean,_

I closed my eyes and let the words come to me.

_You were the best older brother a person could possibly hope for. You were my everything, always there for me whenever I needed you, and even when I didn't. I can't find words to describe how much you meant to me, but please, remember this. I know you hate chick flick moments, but I have to say it, big bro, I love you. Always have and always will. _

_I'm sorry, Dean, I really am. This is my fault, not in the slightest bit yours. I truly hope you can eventually move on with your life. But promise me this, you won't do what I did. I know you're stronger than that._

_I love you, jerk._

_~Sammy_

Was that enough? I stared at the opportunity in my hand. Oh how easy it would be.

But no.

I couldn't do that to Dean. I swallowed sharply.

This…this was working. It wasn't ideal, but it worked. No one was getting hurt besides me and that was what mattered. Suicide would hurt Dean too much and I could never do that to him. It was one thing to entertain the thoughts, like a deep guilty pleasure, but acting on it…that was out of the question.

The container went back into the bag and the bag went back below the sink. I stared at my reflection in the mirror above the sink and visually collected myself. Using the washcloth hanging next to the hand towel, I wiped down my face, sure to make sure my eyes didn't look to red or puffy. Then I flushed the toilet, washed my hands, and rinsed out my mouth.

It was a mistake, obviously. I hadn't meant to overdose, or whatever really happened this evening, and I wouldn't do it again. I'd be more careful. It was strange to think how very close I came to suicide this evening, not once, but twice. Yet all over the world, people went on with their everyday lives. It was strange to think how insignificant one person truly is. Whether they know it or not, humans are really quite self-centered. We seem to think the rest of the world comes to a halting stop whenever the slightest thing happens to us. The hardest thing to grasp was that the world went on without you. Not even that it could, but that it _would._

But that was besides the point. I couldn't risk something like this again. Not only did I risk my life, but it was fully possible, if not for Dean's amazing faith, that Dean would have become suspicious of me, maybe even figuring it all out. Staring into the reflection of my eyes, closed off of all emotion, I made myself a promise.

I promised to be a better drug addict.

**TBC...**


	15. City of the Damned

**Thank you so much for all the reivews, guys! They make my day! Please keep it up :D**

**CHAPTER 14**  
>City of the Damned<p>

_"Lost children with dirty faces today  
>No one really seems to care<br>I read the graffiti in the bathroom stall."_

The rain drizzled down the window, blurring the grey sky of the outdoors. Somewhere in the background the teacher droned on, but my attention was on the droplets carving their paths down the window pane. School no longer held any interest for me. Why bother? It would accomplish nothing. Because Dad was right, you couldn't stop a werewolf with quadratic equations, now could you? Dean had been rather surprised when he got a call from my English teacher saying I hadn't turned in any of the last six assignments, but I just shrugged and said we're leaving soon. And Dad was upset because I was no longer putting much effort into training. It'd finally dawned on me one day, while jogging down a path in the woods, Dean about twenty feet in front of me, that I would never catch him. I could train every hour of every day, in fact I could be the best damn hunter on the planet, but I would still never be the perfect soldier. No that was Dean. No matter how many mistakes, or how many times he slacked off research duty (and who do you think ended up with that work?), he would always be perfect. Because beneath it all, I was just the monster that killed my mom and destroyed my family.

I deserved what I got.

It'd been almost five months since my fatal fall through the fountain. Five months. That was all it took. Who knew so much could happen in such a short amount of time. How much a person could change.

I was up to about 5, sometimes even 6 Vicodin at a time. But it was never as good. Not like that first time, so long ago the feeling was just a vague idea now. I wanted something more. The idea had been hovering in the back of my mind for a while now, but the thought of doing something serious, like cocaine or heroin…that was scary. That would be like the final step. Admitting this had gone on to far but, by this point, there was no stopping. I was a slave. Me. A Winchester. A proud as hell, tough like no other, fight to until you can't fight anymore and then some, Winchester. They would be so disappointed. And that was one look I never wanted to see in Dean's eyes. I was used to it in Dad's.

Dean had approached me twice now. The first time I said it was school problems and that I was stressed. I even mentioned that I was having girl trouble, a crush who didn't like me back – a lie – because I knew Dean would understand how dramatic girls could be. He didn't seem to totally buy it, but it was enough for then. Maybe two weeks later, he asked again. That time I'd practically told him to fuck off and leave me the hell alone. He had looked torn between punching me and fainting from shock. He didn't ask me again. I think I might have scared him off. Maybe he was afraid of the problem, knowing it had to be big, or maybe he was just freaked that he'd lost his grip on me. Who knows? Not me, that's for sure.

The bell rang. Following the mob out into the hallway, I was herded down towards to main exit and out the doors. I yawned – I was always tired these days – before finally turning down the sidewalk to walk home. I did that now, walking home. It was an unspoken decision that I was healed. Besides, I had to go to the library to get some stuff for a history project anyway.

Sirens began to slice through the air and I flinched. They were so loud if you weren't in a car. Out of nowhere, someone ran by me, slamming into my shoulder hard enough to almost take me off my feet. He stumbled and fell to his knees, the messenger bag hanging from his shoulder slipping to the ground. The red and blue lights reflected off his fearful eyes as he looked over his shoulder. He shoved himself to his feet just as the car screeched to a halt and a police man sprang out of the passenger side, weapon pointed over the top of his door as he shouted, "Freeze!"

I took a step back until I was against the wall, wanting to watch without becoming involved. Like the horrified onlookers of a car accident who can't look away. The running guy cursed under his breath.

"Stand up and put your hands on your head!" The driver of the car was out and approaching, gun held at the ready. Shaking his head in frustration, the man did as asked, the bag lying discarded on the ground.

The door nearest me opened, but the old man exiting just stopped, mouth slightly agape, as soon as he saw what was in front of him.

The guy's arms were jerked down and cuffed as the other cop grabbed the bag off the ground.

"Arthur Kelly, you're under arrest for drug possession with intent to distribute. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?"

"Yes."

"I got it," the other cop said as he held up bags of drugs in his gloved hands. None too gently, the man was forced into the back of the car and they pulled away from the curb only a few minutes later. The old man tsk-ed.

"Such a shame – what drugs do to otherwise bright young people. Such a waste." I tried to pretend the air hadn't just been completely sucked out of my lungs. It was like the world had suddenly turned upside down. I'd thought…but it's not like I would ever do something like that. It'd never go that far.

And how many times had I said something exactly like that then proceeded to do it?

He went on his way and, after a minute or two, so did I.

The library was mostly empty. It didn't take long for me to find the books I needed for school. But on my way to the checkout counter, I spotted the addiction section. After a brief war between my feet and my head, I turned down the aisle. Past the alcohol section was the drug section. Selecting a book labeled prescription, I opened it up. I closed it almost immediately then grabbed a few others. By the window there was an armchair perfect for reading.

And I read. For almost an hour.

I had thought, so firmly, that I was a slave. I told myself that I wanted out, but just wasn't capable at this point. But maybe that wasn't true…maybe subconsciously I didn't want to stop. After all, I had the means. It obviously hadn't been a huge effort to read a book about it. How many school counselors had I had the opportunity to see? It was even the perfect situation. I could tell them, get their opinion, but be gone long before they could even call anyone. And if it really truly came down to it, I could have told Dean. Oh yes, he would be disappointed, and he'd probably never look at me the same again, but way deep down I simply couldn't believe Dean would stop loving me. Maybe I was being naïve or maybe I was twisting facts because I would never be able to stand it happening, but it just didn't seem possible. I trusted my brother, to watch my back, to keep me safe, to never stop loving me. We'd both made mistakes, never to this magnitude, but still, we were about as tight as it gets, even if we were starting to drift apart. If other people, normal ones, could get through this, then surely…

Of course, this was all assuming I'd ever actually tell. And what of withdrawal? I've heard stories of the agonies of withdrawal…and afterwards? What? Forever longing for that one thing I can't have? That would be agony. That would be the ultimate torture.

That would be worse than just doing the damn drug.

Just before leaving, I passed a pamphlet about drugs. Picking it up, my eyes widened. On the front, in bright yellow letters outlined in black, it said: DRUGS ARE A DANGEROUS ROAD. And below the picture of the road disspearing off into the horizon, it said: GET HELP.

_"It's a dangerous road. Get help." _

"So that's what you meant, huh, Kris?" I asked, looking skyward. She knew. I don't know how, but that girl knew.

* * *

><p>"Sam!" I looked up from doodling on my homework to see Dad storming angrily up to me.<p>

"Yes?" I was just coming off of a high and was still feeling kinda silly, and tired, oh so tired.

"What's this Dean says about you skipping training?" I narrowed my eyes instantly and swung my death glare over to Dean who was fidgeting behind Dad.

"You told?" Wow, that was like pure venom. I was tempted to call him a backstabbing asshole.

"Yeah…I can let it go if it's a couple times, but this is dangerous, I don't want you get hurt on a hunt!" Dean sounded honest, like he was practically begging me to understand.

"No, you don't want me to mess up and get _you_ hurt, isn't that right?" I snarled. Dean's eyes went wide and his mouth began to open and close quickly. "That's what this is all about, isn't it?" Now I was looking at Dad. "I've finally become too much of a failure and you're…what? Holding an intervention?"

I'm not sure why I said intervention. There was a tiny part of me that had thought that was exactly what they were doing when I first saw them both standing there, especially with Dean looking so nervous. And perhaps I wanted them to. That way they'd somehow know without me telling, but still obviously care enough to try and help me.

Damn I was confused.

All my confusion stemmed from one question really: Did I or did I not _want_ to stop? Putting aside all extra factors, how Dean might react, whether I thought I could…Did I? I didn't know.

"Sam, that's not it at all! I'm just worried-"

"Dean's got nothing to explain, Sam, it's you who's at fault. You skip training then expect Dean to lie about it? And normally I'd just chalk it down to some big project in school that you're spending all your time on, but Dean tells me you're slacking on that too! I thought school was what you wanted, Sam? So I go out of my way to make sure you get to go to school and you slack off on that too? You need to seriously get your act together and get your head on straight because I won't tolerate any more of this new attitude." He turned around and walked into the kitchen where I could hear him open the fridge, probably for a beer.

"Sam?" Dean asked hesitantly.

"Not now, Dean, I've got to go get my act together and my head on straight," I sneered. I grabbed up my textbook and notebook before heading towards the room Dean and I shared – though right now I had full intention of locking Dean out of it.

Dean grabbed my arm as I went passed him and he turned me around.

"I didn't tell Dad just to get you in trouble, you know. I really am worried about you."

"I'll be sure to take that into consideration." Once again I tried to go but he stopped me.

"Seriously, Sam, what's up with you? You're freaking me out…scaring me even. And you know I don't scare easy." He offered a halfhearted smile but I didn't react at all and it slipped off his face. "What's different, Sam? Where'd the little brother I know go?" I stood for a moment, staring right into Dean's eyes.

"He moved out," I finally snarled before jerking out of Dean's grip and storming to my room. I grabbed the pills from under my mattress.

When Dean knocked on my, _our, _door and said dinner was ready, I replied that I wasn't hungry. Dean had avoided our room all evening, but I knew he'd eventually come.

And he did.

Around ten, he knocked. I guess even older brothers had to sleep sometime.

"Sam, unlock the door," he said tiredly. I got up after a minute then unlocked the door before turning right around and plopping on the bed.

"Hey," he offered. I rolled onto my side and pulled the covers over me. I wasn't sure why I was giving him the silent treatment, really he'd done nothing but care. But that was the thing about anger, once it started, drug induced or not, if tended to stick around. Besides it was damn hard to say my bad for blowing up for no reason.

He sighed before climbing into his own bed and turning out the light.

One good thing about darkness is that it's good for thinking.

And think I did. I thought for a while. I thought about Dean and Dad. About whether I wanted the drug and whether I wanted to stop. Which path to take in a forest full of paths?

Religion was never really something I thought about much. I guess on some deeper level I believed there had to be goodness out there somewhere, right? Surely to have so much bad there must be something good. Otherwise wouldn't we all be long dead? Was it so crazy to believe that if there was a Hell than surely there was some type of Heaven? Dean would probably say so, but I had pretty much decided that for myself. I'm not sure if I believed in God or in some other higher power, but I did believe there was something good.

Where better to clear my head and search for an answer?

I thought back to the tall, old church I had seen as we drove into town. It was a start.

Rolling over to face Dean, I waited for a bit to see if he reacted or if he was asleep. Satisfied, I sat up and walked across our room, holding my breath all the while. The window was only a little rusty and it gave with a good push.

I hauled myself up onto the sill and slid my feet over. Casting one final glance at Dean, I jumped out.

I had a confession to make.

**TBC...**

**So guys I have an idea I've been tossing around in my head for a while. I was thinking of maybe writing a one or two-shot from Dean's POV about some of the major events in the story, the hunt, the thing with Kris, the werewolf hunt, after the party, stuff like that. Would anyone be interested in reading that or just leave it as is? Thoughts/comments/ideas on this would be greatly appreciated. **


	16. Time of Your Life

**Thank you so much for all the reivews, guys! You totally rock! :D Only one chapter left to go!**

**CHAPTER 15**  
>Time of Your Life<p>

_"It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time  
>It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right.<br>I hope you had the time of your life."_

The air was like a slap in the face. It made me wish I had thought to grab a sweater. How silly I must look, in Dean's old Guns N' Roses t-shirt and plaid, flannel pj pants. The street was, of course, deserted and only about half of the street lamps worked properly while the others cast decidedly yellow light in a small radius. I paused for a moment, letting the image of the church and my path to it take shape in my mind. I remembered passing a park…with a fountain that wasn't running…and a library – the library! I knew where that was, I walked past it walking home! I rubbed my hands together for a moment to get some friction going then took off at a light jog.

Even though I'd walked this path several times, it still seemed entirely different going backwards and soon I was questioning every turn. I kept having to stop and think about how I got home. Funny how things like that were so ingrained in your mind that you didn't even know what you were doing. It was like cleaning weapons, you didn't think about each step, you just did it.

The center part of the town was better lit. Street lights every hundred feet illuminated almost the entire sidewalk. I stared into the empty windows of the library for a few minutes before turning to view the whole street. I could cross off the way I had come. I knew the road in front of me just had a few shops and eventually lead to the bar which only left the road to the right. I stared for a moment before setting out.

The church was a big white building with the classic steeple on top. The door wasn't locked or anything, but I didn't really figure it would be. I'll admit part of me expected to be struck down as soon as I set foot inside, but nothing happened. It was stuffy and warm inside, nothing too exciting.

_Well, here I am, _I thought. Now what? I debated for a minute before leaving the lights off and just letting the moonlight streaming in from the doorway and windows provide me what I needed to see.

I dropped into a pew near the front and stared at the front of the church. There was a large red cross on a velvet cloth hanging down the wall and a slightly elevated stage with two podiums.

I'd never done anything like this before. Prayed, yes, many times. Prayed for my dad to understand, prayed for my family's safety, prayed for my future. But this was different. This was something between a confession and a plea for help.

"I know," I started shakily, "that it's wrong. God, do I know that." I paused for a second realizing I might have just sinned in a church…was saying the Lord's name in vain still a sin? "Um anyway…I need," I teetered on the verge of saying help before catching myself, "guidance. What do I do? I can't keep this up much longer." Wasn't that the truth. I rubbed at my tired eyes. "I can't bare their disappointment either, their disgust. It's selfish I guess, but I can't."

I sucked in a deep breath. Dean's eyes swam before my mind. Those reproachful, disgusted, shamed eyes that haunted my dreams. Unconsciously I ghosted a hand over the nearly invisible scar on my arm where a desperate man had shot me while stealing money from a convenience store.

"I t-think I want to stop," I said slowly, mulling it over in my head as I said it. "I really think I do. Not because I don't like it, that couldn't be further from the truth, but because I'm afraid of what I'm becoming. I lie _all the time. _I hate lying to Dean. He's everything. He made me what I am. But I'm afraid too because what happens when I stop? I'm too deep now. Withdrawal, cravings, it's all gonna be hell – uh, pardon the language. And what if…" my voice got really quiet like I was whispering a midnight secret at a slumber party, "what if they don't…you know, like…I don't know what I'm trying to say. What if Dean, like, hates me? And what if they never look at me the same? How can they?" I asked with a humorless laugh, "I can't even look at me the same. I'm some demon even I don't know anymore.

I'm too scared to continue and I'm too scared to stop and where the hell does that leave me?" No more was I talking to anyone but myself, blurting out months and months of emotion. "Nowhere nice, that's where. And what am I supposed to do? I don't know, _I don't know!" _I wailed, tears finally breaking over my eyelids to start their journey. They dripped down my face and chin, finally landing with a splat on the floor. "I…I can't, can't do _that_. Not to Dean. But I can't think of any other end game. I'm pretty sure, maybe 90% that Dean won't hate me, but _what if_? As long as there's the tiniest shred of doubt…Besides, the trouble I'll be in…they'll never trust me again. Not to hunt, not to stay by myself, not to take a damn aspirin. And Dad, well Dad might just kill me. They don't need this kinda crap.

I've destroyed my life. I know it. I just don't know what to do about it. If I didn't have a family it wouldn't matter. I want the Vicodin, hell, I want crack, but I can't. Because that's gonna destroy me. Not physically, but mentally. I'm going to lose it if I have to see Dean's eyes full of a hundred different emotions after I yell at him yet again. I'm going to lose it if I lie one more time. I'm going to lose it if I don't do something to stop all this hurt. But I can't handle the fear of what comes after. I can't handle the fear of facing what comes after alone. I can't. Dean…Dean, Dean, Dean." I chanted my brother's name, my tears picking up speed.

Dean – a name to call for reassurance after a nightmare.

Dean – a name to call when in need of protection.

Dean – a name to call to ward off fear.

Dean – my brother, my family, my protector, my teammate, my life.

"Help me," I choked out, "Dean, please. Please, help me. Dean. I need you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I can't do this anymore. Dean, I need you," I whimpered. I slid down sideways on the pew and curled my knees up. My shaking nearly knocked me off the skinny board. My nails dug in, threatening to rip off as I clawed uselessly at the wood.

I needed my Dean.

"What are you doing here this late, child?"

My heart leapt into my throat as I tumbled off the bench and jerked into the aisle to see a woman standing by the door.

She was older, but not too old. There were wrinkles on her knowing face and her thin brown hair had streaks of grey. She was plump but not too fat. Her brown eyes were wise and kind as she looked me over.

"I-I was just…what I mean to say is I was…I don't know what I was doing," I finished lamely. I reached up and wiped the tears off my cheek with a fist like a young toddler.

"You were asking for help, for guidance, weren't you? That's what most everyone does in a church by themselves at night."

"Oh," I said simply. I was suddenly aware of what a mess I must have looked. I certainly didn't feel like a tough druggie anymore. Not that I ever really felt like that.

"Would you mind some company?" she asked softly.

"It's not my church," I said simply, mostly because I didn't know if I minded company. She nodded and sat down on the pew I had been on a minute ago. She looked at me expectantly.

"Well sit down, child, don't just stand there." I sat. Silence rained over us for a few minutes before she finally spoke up. "Would you like to tell me what got such a sweet boy into such a mess as drugs?" My eyes widened.

"I-I-I don't…" I stammered. It suddenly seemed far too hot in the church.

"Please, sweetheart, I lost my Jimmy to drugs, I know all the signs, not to mention all the excuses."

"I'm sorry," I said lamely. Her eyes looked sad for a minute before she smiled warmly.

"It was a terrible, terrible thing and I miss my boy something awful, but I'd be lying if I said he didn't bring it upon himself." She looked at me thoughtfully for a second. "Was about your age, same floppy hair, but the eyes...the eyes were different. He was a bright boy with a good future but he got all mixed up in all the wrong crowds in high school. Overdosed by the time he was a senior." She looked lost in her memories for a moment before coming back to the present. She reached a hand out and set it gently atop mine. "Now a days, I try to help other people who've come to the same fate. Seems only right that if I couldn't save my boy, I could at least save some other mother's child."

My first response was going to be that I didn't have a mother, but that wasn't true. I _had_ a mother, even if I didn't remember her. And I had one even now. I had her in the way my dad and brother risked their lives to save me on hunts and in the way Dean always went to all my school and sports stuff even though he couldn't have cared less about all that. I may not have had a mother, but I did have a family.

And just like that I was telling my tale, the whole thing. Well as close as I could come without spilling the hunter stuff. As far as this woman knew, my dad was a salesman who had to travel a lot and since we didn't have a mother to take care of us, we went with him.

I told her how I wanted help, but didn't know how to get it. How ashamed I was to ask my brother for help, to see the look in their eyes. How part of me didn't want to give it up.

"Sweetie, drugs are like a one way street. Once you get going it's nearly impossible to turn around without help."

"But I couldn't bear it if Dean found out. What if, after everything, I wrecked everything we have?"

Her eyes turned sympathetic.

"And what do you think you're doing with all these lies and deceptions? What happens when Dean does find out? He'll find out one way or another." I knew she meant whether I killed myself or slipped up but was too nice to say it. It was awful harsh.

"Yeah, well…"

"It'll only get worse the longer you wait. You've already let it go on too long." She didn't sound like she thought she was better than me or that she was scolding me, more that she was trying to make me understand.

"I know," I said, dangerously close to crying again. I was turning into a real wussy.

"From what you've told us I can already tell that this Dean of yours cares a whole lot for you. He'll be far more worried about you getting better than being mad at you and he certainly won't think any less of you. Everyone makes mistakes," she said simply like we were talking about spilling juice on the carpet.

"But how do you _know?" _I pleaded. 99.9% sure wasn't good enough. Because the risk, no matter how small, wasn't worth it. I just couldn't risk Dean hating me or being ashamed of me or anything like that.

"Child, it's plain as day in the way you talk about him. You speak of him as though he was some type of god."

"He practically is. He's good at everything and he's a real charmer. And he's always there for me," I said, feeling ashamed as I recalled the hurt look on his face when I lashed out at him after that disastrous party. "But I've never done something like this before…"

"People can surprise you sometimes, darling. And love, well, love can triumph over all." It sounded like one of those movies that made Dean pretend to gag then turn off the channel. But that didn't mean it didn't matter to me. It did. A lot.

A rush of love struck me hard. _Dean._ My doubt fled and all of a sudden I wanted my brother so bad it was a physical hurt.

Then there was the one last doubt I had. The one that scared me stiff. Even if Dean accepted me and helped me, what if I couldn't? What if I proved my ultimate weakness in failure to quit even when I knew it was right?

What if I was too weak? Too weak to even be called a Winchester.

"But what if I can't stop?" I asked timidly. Her eyes widened and she leaned very close to me. So close that our noses almost touched. I was starting to feel pretty uncomfortable.

"There's one thing you must never forget." A chill ran through me.

"What's that?"

"There is always a choice."

**TBC...**

**Reviews rock my salt ;)**


	17. Letterbomb

**The last one. It's kinda short, but I just didn't want to drag it too much. The flow seems a little off to me, but hopefully it's not too bad. Sorry I didn't get a chance to reply to reviews, I wouldn't have been able to post this chapter (which has remained unfinished every since I started posting even though I kept saying I would finish it). I really appreciate them all and would love to hear your final opinion. I think I will post Deans POV, but it won't be for a week or two and it'll be a seperate thing. **

**CHAPTER 16  
><strong>Letterbomb

_"Standing still when it's do or die  
>You better run for your fucking life<br>It's not over 'till you're underground"_

The moon's pale reflection wavered in the chilled fountain water. I dragged my finger through it and watched as it rippled then slowly came back together.

It was similar to the one from all those months ago, but this one wasn't a wreck and wasn't scarred with past terrors. The cold water surrounded my hand as I thrust it under the surface, completely destroying the reflection. It was calming, the likes of which I've only ever known with one other thing.

"Sam!" a voice called distantly. A voice that both saddened me and comforted me. It was Dean. And this was the moment. Once he found me, I would tell.

Emotion was gone. All of it, anger, fear, pride, it was gone. And in it's place was only weariness. This had gone on long enough. I'd be dead if I went on much longer. Despite everything, I didn't want that.

"Sam?" Dean called, closer now. I didn't move from my position, sitting on the edge of the fountain trailing my fingers through the water. "Sammy?" he couldn't have been more than ten or fifteen feet away. He certainly sounded relieved.

"What the hell was that, Sam? Do you know how freaked I was when I woke up and you were gone? You know better! How did I know you weren't kidnapped or eaten or…" he trailed off when I turned to look at him. I saw from the look in his eyes that this time he really saw. He saw the sickness of drugs in my face. "Sammy?" he looked frightened, and really who can blame him?

"It's bad, Dean, it's really bad," I said simply before turning back to the water. I traced a pretty little pattern over and over in the water and ignored the silence of Dean's shock.

"Sam?"

"Maybe I should have died. You know, in that fountain when she tried to drown me. Maybe I should have died." There was a sharp intake of breath and suddenly there were hands on my shoulders, bodily turning me around so I was kneeling in the dirt facing my pale brother. For a moment we sat there, the mud soaking into our knees and wind blowing through our hair, until his hands moved to grip the sides of my face.

"Don't you ever, _ever, _say that. Not ever, Sam." I was pulled into a crushing embrace, the feeling of Dean's amulet digging into my cheek, that lasted longer than any hug between us ever had. "I couldn't," he swallowed thickly, "I couldn't go on without you, Sam." His voice breezed through my hair and tickled my forehead.

Tears welled up in my eyes and spilled out before I had enough time to even think about holding them back. Dean pushed me back by the shoulders and stared into my face, concern all over his face.

"You wouldn't say that if you knew. _You wouldn't say that if you knew!"_ I cried. I dropped my head forward onto the nearest thing, which happened to be Dean's chest, and let it all out, the tears, the sobs, the emotion.

"Look, Sam, I got a couple ideas of what's going on here and, while I don't like any of them, none of them will ever change what I think of you. You could go full dark-side and go on a killing rampage and I'd still love you, little bro. Mind you, I'd probably have to take a swing at you, on principal, but-"

I laughed wetly. He looked into my eyes for a minute before I suddenly saw something click.

"It was the Vicodin, wasn't it?" I nodded. He closed his eyes for a minute before he opened them and gripped my shoulder a little tighter. "Oh, kiddo." What really surprised me, was the tears shining clear as day in Dean's eyes. That…that never happened. "This whole time?" he asked, sounding scared of the answer.

"Yeah," I whispered. The sun was barely peaking over the horizon and I wondered if Dad was even up yet. The sky was beautiful shades of pink and orange. I swallowed down all the emotion and doubt that was building up in my throat and started.

"After I hurt my knee, it was only prescription use, honestly. But then on Mom's birthday-" Guilt flashed through his eyes. "Dean…"

"No, Sam, it's inexcusable. We always get so focused on our own pain, I never really think much about what everyone else is feeling."

"It's not that I want you guys to ignore it – that would be like trying to erase Mom and that's not what I want – but I think we should spend time together at least. Remember what we do have. It's not the same for me as it is for you and Dad," I hated that my voice was starting to crack, "I don't have any memories to go off. I can't just focus on the good times because I don't remember any of them. She's just an idea, a dream, to me because I know nothing about her. She's my mom, yes, but she's also a stranger. And it's not fair."

He pulled me close and whispered, "I'm sorry," into my hair.

"No, it's not your fault."

"I always envied you because you didn't know her." I jerked back in surprise. "I know right? But for me it was like I had it all, the perfect life, then someone just came along and ripped the rug out from under me. And I envy you because you didn't have to know that pain, which, trust me, I'm glad that you didn't have to go through that, but…"

"Yeah." I paused for a minute before finally saying a thought that had always weighed heavily on me, something that felt like a sin just to think. "When I hunt, I'm not hunting for revenge against Mom. I can't because I don't know who she was. I'm hunting to get revenge for the loss of my life, for ruining the perfect life that I had for a few months. I know it's wrong…"

"What's wrong is that we never told you anything about her. A boy shouldn't grow up not knowing anything about his mom."

"You'll tell me one someday? You'll tell me a story about Mom?"

"Yeah," he said with a small smile as he pushed some hair out of my eyes, "I promise."

"Thank you." I looked down, trying to decide how to continue.

"But, Sam," he waited until I finally met his eyes, "you have to know that she _loved _you. You meant so much to her. She used to call us her perfect angels." He resituated so he was sitting next to me, leaning against the fountain and me leaning against his shoulder.

"I didn't use it to get high. Not at first. In the beginning it was just a way to calm down."

He snorted. "Yeah, I can see how that would have been nice." He looked thoughtful for a minute, like he was trying to remember something, then asked, "then what?" I decided to come clean. If I was gonna do this, I was gonna do this all the way. But, like ripping off the band-aid, I wanted to get it over quick. Spit it all out without having to continuously stop.

"Well next came Kris." Dean looked up immediately, eyes wide. "It started way before that, Dean," I said quickly not wanting him to think the first time I ever took drugs in an un-prescription way was when he kissed Kris. "I just…really liked her, you know? She was so wonderful. And then…"

"God, Sam, I'm so sorry."

"I just wanna know why," I pleaded.

"It wasn't anything important, it was just a spur of the movement, teenage-hormone overflow, kiss." He looked like he wanted badly to kick himself now that he knew the true effect it had on me.

"It-it's okay, Dean." And it was. Because really, what did one little kiss matter in the grand scheme of things?

"So what came next?" I decided my nighttime dream with Kris would be my secret to take to the grave. It was just one of those things.

"Well, I guess the next big thing was the party, which you know about. Well sort of. I think I might have accidentally overdosed -oh wait! There was a hold-up at a gas station where the dude trying to rob the place shot me in the arm because I was kinda high and couldn't keep my mouth shut." Dean's eyes bugged out and the color completely drained from his face.

"Overdosed? S_hot?_ You were _shot?_ How did I not find out about this?"

"I've gotten good at hiding things," I said, trying to joke, but I regretted instantly when Dean flinched. "And the overdose was an accident, I swear. Just a bad combination of drugs and alcohol. And I didn't realize how much stronger Percocet was."

Dean's knuckles were white as he gripped his thigh. "You're okay now? Physically?" He asked tersly. If I hadn't known better I would have said the guy wanted to give me a good shake. Actually, I do know and that's probably exactly what Dean wanted at that moment. There were so many emotions warring across his face.

"You're going to stop with drugs," Dean said, a statement not a question. "You're giving me gray hairs," he said with a light smile.

"Okay." I didn't grin in the slightest.

It was strange. I knew most drug addictions probably didn't end like that. But seeing Dean's face, and thinking about all the lies, and the guilt and the hundreds of hurt and concerned looks I'd seen on Dean's face over the months, not to mention listening to him say he thought someone had spiked my drink…I think part of me had known all along how wrong this was and part of me had wanted badly to stop. Turns out it took an accidental overdose, some suicidal thoughts and a mother-of-all fights with my brother to push me to do something. And the reassurance that my brother wasn't ashamed and wasn't gonna run the other direction, just knowing Dean was still there after everything…well that was better than any drug.

"Dean, it's gonna be hard…and I'm scared.

"Don't you worry, we'll get through this. I'm here, little bro." I'm here, little bro…the exact words from when I originally hurt my knee.

I knew at some point, some point soon, Dean was going to give me a hell of scolding, and there'd be a few serious talks and probably a handful of chick flick moments, but I'd work on that when it came time. As long as I had my Dean, I knew I'd be fine.

When had I forgotten that?

**The End**


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